O N Q 5 

OF SCENES AT HOME 




Class J?_S..:^_.5lJ1^ 
Book__.£i:?_iA 



Copyright N°,__ 



^0? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



•^m^. 



m^i^^J-. 




WILL N. DENTON 




of 

tmtB at ^ttmt 



MtU N. Bmtm 




WllX, N, DENTON 

THOMAS, ALA. 

1907 



<^\ 



f 



^4^ 




ROBERTS & SON 

PRINTERS AND BINDERS 
BIRMINGHAM, ALA. 



-JJN PUBLISHING this little volume of verse I wish 
c!l to say, by way of introduction, that I am not antic- 
ipating its being a literary success — of its bringing me 
either fame or gold — for I am actuated almost solely by 
a desire to see the production of my pen placed in a per- 
manent and convenient form for distribution among my 
readers and personal friends, who have encouraged me in 
its publication by expressing a desire to possess a copy 
of my verses in book form. 

As the matter it contains will speak for itself, I 
leave it to my readers to decide its literary merits for 
themselves. THE AUTHOR. 

Birmingham, Ala., Dec. i^, igo6. 



ffinnt^nts 



CONTENTS 

PACK 

Songs of Scenes at Home 15 

Beauties Here at Home 17 

When Mona Plays 19 

Old Bob White 21 

The Blue Tennessee 23 

Illusions 24 

With Every Fall of Snow 25 

The Snow 26 

A Lily and a Life . . . . ' .... 27 

Uncle Si 28 

Her Last Sweet Song 29 

Thoughts of Harvest Days 31 

A Walk in Autumn Woods . 32 

Oh, Heart Be Brave 33 

Late September 34 

October Days 36 

After the Frost 38 

Dreams of You 40 

Song of the South 41 

Nightfall 43 

In Winter 44 

To the Powers that Be 45 

Dawn Lights 46 

A Morning Thought 47 

Metrical Waifs. . 48 

My Old Scrap Book . . . . ■ 49 

The Little Hand of You 51 

The Better Days 52 

A Shadow on the Wall .53 

Eolus 56 

How Flows the Brook 58 

The Query 59 

Kept His Word 60 

Summer Night 62 

Alone by the Sea 63 



iz 



page; 

Lines to One that Died 65 

A Mid-Winter Dream 67 

The Plaint of the World 69 

A Song by 'Sephus 70 

Fall Days on the Farm 72 

The Fair Musician 74 

Life's Problem 7& 

Song o' Moonlight Memories 76 

The Voice at Manila 77 

A Song of Autumn 78 

Columbia Weeps 80 

A Song of the Brook 82 

Dawn, Noon and Sunset 84 

When Love Was Kind . 85 

A Fallen Hero 86 

Pickin' de Geese in de Sky 88 

The Wind among the Pines 89 

The Last Kiss .90 

When Nellie Sings .92 

Fate 93 

My Dreams of the South 94 

The Badge of the Brave 96 

Life's Day 97 

Dreams o' Summer 98 

Good Night 99 

Where My Love Sleeps 100 

The Difference . 101 

When Woods and Fields Are Green 102 

Mountain Song 104 

Song of a Dead Dream 105 

In Summer Woods 106 

Song of the Hills 107 

By the River 109 

When the Hills Are White Ill 

The Love Enduring 112 

The Old Dinner Horn . 113 



12 



PAGE 

The Vanquished Summer 115 

In Autumn Days. 117 

Springtime 119 

A Spring Idyl 121 

Morning on the Farm 123 

When Winter's Over • • 125 

The Dream Haven 126 

Longing for Autumn 127 

In Fancy's Fair Domain 129 

Kathleen 131 

.Song of the Seasons * 132 

Do Good Today 134' 

Love Song 185 

Of a Mountain River 137 

To Maude-Lillian 138 

Lola Wayne. 140 

Life's Lane o' Dreams 142 

The Autumn's Pathos 143 

When Summer Calls Me Home 145 

The Pin-Ghost 447 

Christmas Song 149 

My Hour to Dream 151 

My Sweetheart 153 



13 



&0tt90 0f BttmB at ^iimt. 

There's songs of smiling, songs of tears, 

And songs of peace and war, 
The melodies of other years. 

From alien lands afar. 
IvOw lyrics and the epics grand, 

As high as heaven's dome, 
But dearest songs of any land 

Are songs of scenes at home. 

The simplest song may thrill the souls 

Of sages with its art, 
As might it one whose bosom holds 

A tender, childlike heart; 
But sweetest will they ever prove — 

No matter where we roam — 
The songs of where we live and love, 

The songs of scenes at home. 



15 



BEA UTIES HERE A T HOME 17 



BEAUTIES HERE AT HOME. 

"CJTERE at home the world is lovely, 

lyike the lands of legends fair, 
For the scenes of home are sweeter 

Than they ever are elsewhere; 
So a lover of the Southland, 

May my fancy never roam, 
To a scene of song or story 

From the beauties here at home. 

Here the waters murmur music, 

Like the lyrics of a dream. 
And the sunlight lies in glory 

On the cotton fields a-gleam. 
Willows with the cypress whisper 

Where the sweet magnolias bloom, 
And the roses to the lilies 

Send a greeting of perfume. 

Here the lowlands are as fertile 

And the mountains are as grand, 
Under skies as blue and tender 

As in any other land. 
Tempered by the gentle breezes 

Are the sunny days so bright. 
While a dream of fairy fragrance 

Is the moonlit summer night. 

In this land so loved and lovely, 
Whether skies are gray or blue. 

Hearts are ever fond and tender 
And the spirit brave and true, 



18 BEAUTIES HERE AT HOME 



For the fathers are as valiant 
As the sires of olden Rome, 

And no matrons are more loyal, 
Than the mothers here at home. 

Here among the pleasant valleys, 

In some blooming woodland dell. 
Might the fairies have a kingdom. 

And the gods of fable dwell; 
So a lover of the Southland, 

May my fancy never roam 
To a scene of song and story 

From the beauties here at home. 



WHEN MONA PLAYS 19 



WHEN MONA PLAYS. 

"IX^HEN Mona plays the violin 

The world of dreams is mine, 
Of summer seas of sunny sheen 

With isles of palm and pine 
Where ceaseless, sings the siren surge, 

As restless billows roll, 
A sweet, half melancholy dirge 

That soothes the saddened soul. 

For as the bow is swept along 

The strings, her violin 
Resounds as if a spirit throng 

Around her, sang unseen, 
And Mona's matchless measures move. 

With gentle grace controlled. 
As dreamy as a dream of love 

Where hearts are never old. 

Across the strings, in gleams of white, 

Her dainty fingers glance, 
As deftly in their airy flight 

As might the faries dance 
To elfin music when the moon. 

At misty mid-night, throws 
A dewy kiss of light in June 

Unto the blooming rose. 

When weird and wild the music moans 

Along the vibrant strings. 
As plaintive as the eerie tones 

The breeze-blown pine tree sings, 



20 WHEN MONA PLAYS 



The soul in rapt attention leaves 

All else alone, apart 
Except the dulcet strain that weaves 

A spell around the heart. 

From wood and string, insensate thing, 

God grant the gift were mine, 
In melting manner forth to bring 

Such melody divine. 
For radiant, with the phantom gleams 

Of brighter, better days. 
One revels in the deathless dreams 

Of love when Mona plays. 



OLD BOB WHITE 21 



OLD BOB WHITE. 

"\X7 HEN the morning dawns in splendor, 

And the pearly dewdrops gleam 
On the blossoms sweet and tender 

That as flashing diamonds seem; 
With the lifting of the shadows 

At the waxing of the light, 
Comes the call across the meadows 

Of the quail for Old-Bob- White. 

I/ike a spirit fluting sweetly, 

Dreamlike on the scented breeze, 
Floating slowly up or fleetly. 

Then across the blooming leas 
From the wheat fields ripe and yellow, 

For the harvest golden bright, 
Comes the monotonic, mellow 

Melody of Old-Bob- White. 

As the wraith-voice of some lover 

Murdered in the long ago, 
From the woodland's leafy cover 

Comes it weirdly, sad and low 
When the sunset's growing redder 

With the waning of the light. 
As it told the name, and shedder 

Of the blood, was Old-Bob- White. 

In the summer's splendid beaming 
At the noontide's drowsy spell, 

As a maiden rapt in dreaming 
Speaks the name she loves full well, 



22 OLD BOB WHITE 



Comes that liquid triad, faintly 
Sounding from the sunny height, 

Slumbersome in tones that quaintly, 
Sweetly utter Old- Bob- White. 

Thus the timid solo singer, 

Gleaner of the harvest fields. 
Pipes a song that seems to linger 

Ivong about the heart and wields, 
As the mood be, pain or pleasure, 

When his throat in tuneful might 
Forth an anapest in measure 

Clearly voices — Old-Bob-White. 



THE BLUE TENNESSEE 23 



THE BI,UE TENNESSEE. 

A BEAUTlFUIy river— the blue Tennessee, 

And as sweet as a love-lighted dream, 
Remembrance that thrills me with longing to be 

On the banks of its wild, winding stream. 
The valleys are fertile and mountains are grand 

With the bluest of soft summer sky 
O'er-arching the forest and green meadow-land 
That its waters flow murmuring by. 

The serpentine brooks by the clover fields sweet. 

As if ribbons of silver unrolled, 
A-quiver with breezes that rimple the wheat 

To a billowy glimmer of gold; 
The crab-apple, grape and the chestnut in bloom, 

With the locust and tall tulip tree. 
That lend to the forest the sweetest perfume 

On the banks of the blue Tennessee. 

The turtle dove calling his mate at the morn 

And the mockingbird singing at noon. 
The whippoowill piping a monody lorn 

In the weird woodland lit by the moon; 
The catbird that mimics the wail of the jay. 

The bob-white and the plaintive kildee 
That mourn in the meadows the death of the day 

On the banks of the blue Tennessee. 

The song of the wheel of an old water mill. 
With its music of slumbersome spell — 

The little brown cottage that stood on the hill 
Where the belle of the valley did dwell — 



24 ILLUSIONS 



The queen of my first love of spirit as light 
As the heart of the bird on the wing; 

In beauty more tenderly sweet to the sight 
Than the blossoming roses of spring. 

The sweet rose of loving is faded and dead 

With the morning of youth far away — 
The bright star of hope has forsaken and fled, 

And the shadows are gathering gray, 
Around me in life where its light used to gleam. 

But in fancy I often shall be 
The lover of yore in illusions to dream 

By the beautiful, blue Tennessee. 



II.I.USIONS. 



T BUIL/T air castles at the morn, 

Resplendent as a dream of June, 
In all that fancy might adorn — 
They toppled ere the noon. 

At noon I wrought me pictures fair 
Of wondrous art, and loved them well, 

But, too, they vanished as of air 
When dewy twilight fell. 

I then had dreams of love, its bliss, 
Throughout the solemn, silent night, 

Of beauty's lips that I might kiss — 
All left me at the light. 

Oh, wild, sweet dreams of yesterday. 
Illusions all ! For now the strife. 

The toil, the tears beset the way 
On the rough road of life. 



WITH EVERY FALL OF SNOW 25 



WITH KVKRY FALI, OF SNOW. 

"'iXT'HEN dawn uplifts the pall of night, 

And wakes the light from sleep, 
And lies the world, all dazzling white. 

In snowf lakes buried deep, 
'Tis then my heart leaps glad and free, 

As if it were a boy's. 
And leagued with youth in boist'rous glee 

To share in youthful joys. 

Then faintly up my lonely stair. 

The merry music climbs. 
Of jingling sleigh-bells on the air 

I/ike far-off fairy chimes; 
And through the dingy window pane, 

I see the roisters ride 
Across the snow, a fleeting train, 

lyike dream-ships o'er the tide. 

And out within the frosty park 

I see the youngsters there. 
Up early as the morning lark. 

To build a snow-man rare — 
Or hid by angles of the walls. 

Bold lads of roguish eye. 
Up-piling pyramids of balls 

To pelt the passer-by. 

And while I look, the city streets 
Are blurred with memory's tears 

Till down the misty past it meets 
With joys of other years, 



26 THE SNOW 



For dear old times and dear old scenes 

Of winters long ago 
Come fondly back, like fadeless dreams, 

With every fall of snow. 



THE SNOW. 



T N ebon lines, across the sky, 

The drifting clouds trail slowly by; 
From east to west a sable pall — 

As if the light, 
In dying, draped the earth and all 

In semi-night. 

In ghostly whispers moan the winds. 
Among the leafless oaks and pines. 
As grieving for the gray old earth 

Of beauty shorn. 
With fields, bereft of summer mirth. 

Cold, bare and lorn. 

Then suddenly a darker shade 

Of shadow falls, and silence made 

The deeper for the gloom, spreads round; 

While motionless. 
They stand a little space, no sound 

The trees express. 

So lifeless seems the great world heart, 
No sound, nor stir, its pulses start, 
Till from the lead-hued vault of cloud 

Falls softly, slow 
The winter's white and shining shroud — 

God's gift, the snow. 



A LILY AND A LIFE 27 



A LII.Y AND A LIFE. 

A I<ILY in a garden fair 

I saw a-blooming white, 
But while its petals spreading there 
With dew were gleaming bright, 
There came a bee of vagrant art 

To dally with the flow'r 
And stole the sweetness from its heart 
Which withered in an hour. 

Then blew the ruthless winds that roam 

The pleasant gardens round, 
And plucked it from its leafy home 

And cast it on the ground, 
Where every wanton foot might tread 

Upon its tender face, 
Unmindful of the beauty fled, 

Or of its former grace. 

I knew a maiden in the mom 

Of virtue's priceless worth — 
A woman fitted to adorn 

The proudest place on earth — 
Who trusted in an evil hour 

False love's alluring guile, 
That took from innocence its pow'r 

And from her lips the smile. 

It murdered love within her breast. 
It dulled her sparkling eyes. 

And, robbing slumber of its rest, 
It filled her dreams with sighs; 



28 UNCLE SI 



For like the lily, virgin sweet, 
That lost its proud estate, 

She, at the world's remorseless feet, 
Ivies dying of its hate. 



UNCIvE SI. 



/^lyD Uncle Si is as black as a pot, 

But his wool is as white as snow, 
For he was old Si when I was a tot. 

And that has been many years ago; 
But he putters around and croons a song. 
Through the hottest or the coldest day. 
And sure as I happen to pass along 

With: "Howdy Uncle Si," he will say: 

" I'se a-libbin along, 

Marse John — 

Jes a-libbin along 

To-day." 

So day after day, as the years go by. 

My own feet falter, my hair grows gray, 
But crooning around is Old Uncle Si, 

In the quaint, old-time darkey way. 
And sometimes I tell him we soon must quit 
lyiving along, and sleep neath the sod: 
" Yassuh, by-um-by, but we aint gwien yit," 
He replies with a grin and a nod — 
" Fur we's libbin along, 
Marse John — 
We's a-libbin a long 
T'ank Gawd!" 



HER LAST SWEET SONG 29 



HBR I/AST SWEET SONG. 

A S gently as the June winds blow, 

The night before she died, 
I heard her singing sweet and low — 

My wife — to be death's bride 
So soon — and bloom an angel flower, 

And thinking makes me weep, 
Of how that solemn midnight hour 
She sang hei babe to sleep. 

I'd heard her singing so before, 

To bring her loved ones rest. 
But saintly songs of sacred lore 

Had never seemed so blest 
With loving as that last that fell 

From lips so soon to cease 
Their music with the silent spell 

Of Death's cold kiss of peace. 

As soothing to my ears it crept 

As if my fancy dreamed 
Celestial music while I slept, 

For eerie-low it seemed. 
As might love's matchless melodies, 

From out an angel throat. 
At dawn, upon the morning breeze. 

In sweetest cadence float. 

As plaintive, weird and sweet and soft 
As moans the autumn breeze 

That grieves among the leaves aloft 
The frosted forest trees, 



30 HER LAST SWEET SONG 



Her gentle voice, as if her soul, 

In prayer called to mine 
As through the gates of gold it stole 

To sing a song divine. 

The pathos of that song as sung 

The coldest heart would thrill 
To hear it were I given tongue 

To voice it, or the skill 
To sing it with the minstrel's art, 

A mournful threnody, 
A careless world of calloused heart 

Might weep as one with me. 

With bleeding, broken heart I still, 

May hear that gentle strain. 
In dream-like fancy when I will 

To think of it again. 
For ever through my coming life. 

With memory shall abide 
That last sweet singing of my wife 

The night before she died. 



THOUGHTS OF HARVEST DAYS 31 



THOUGHTS OF HARVEST DAYS. 

TN memories of long ago, 

The scented breeze that used to blow 
The fragrance of the new mown hay 
Across the ways, I feel today, 

In fancy and remember, 
The harvest lands of far away 

In beautiful September. 

To mind returns the old farm days 
Of autumn when the azure haze. 
Upon the hills and o'er the stream. 
In veils of vapor, dimmed the gleam 

Of sunlight on the meadows. 
And made the woodland ways a dream 

Of shifting shine and shadows. 

Out through the mist of memory 
The past is ever fair to see, 
"For distance lends enchantment to" 
The visual and the mental view, 

So of no future dreaming, 
Adown the past the sky is blue 
And stars of hope still gleaming. 

And weary of the ways of men, 
I would I were a boy again 
Heart-free to rove in orchards old. 
Where apples gleam in red and gold 

Among the leaves a-quiver. 
Or from the school a truant bold 

A dreamer by the river. 



32 A WALK IN AUTUMN WOODS 



A WAIyK IN AUTUMN WOODS. 

"r\OWN dusky aisles of forest trees, 

Sweet-scented with the autumn breeze, 
My pathway leads by break and fen 
Where seldom tread the feet of men; 
In trailing robes of clinging vine. 
The sturdy oak and stately pine 
Are drest, and scarlet, green and gold 
Of matchless hue is upward rolled 
The wooded hill in splendor. 

The mountains in the distance lift 
Their misty tops while slowly drift 
The clouds beyond them leaving there 
A scalloped line of azure where 
The sky, wide-arching overhead, 
A cloudless sea of blue is spread, 
From which on forest, field and streams 
In golden glints the sunlight beams 
Through hazes soft and tender. 

As Scotland's heather, purple-dyed. 
The iron- weed blooms far and wide, 
By reedy pools and upland glades. 
In beauty, while in denser shades, 
With drooping plumes of old gold sheen 
The yellow golden-rod is seen 
Like sheets of flame along the wood 
Where aromatic scents exude 

From fragrant leaf and flower. 

And though as dreaming, yet awake, 
A pleasant journey on I make. 



OH, HEART BE BRAVE 33 



Forgetful of the cares behind 
That burden either heart or mind; 
Enchanted with the varied scene 
Of colors, yellow, red and green, 
For beauties of the earth and sky- 
Still lure me on and on as by 
Some mystic, occult power. 



OH, HKART BK BRAVK. 

'THROUGH all the world seem desolate, 

And all of life seem sad, 
Obeisant to the will of Fate, 
Oh, heart be glad ! 

Though troubled all the days of life, 

From cradle to the grave, 
Amid the sorrow and the strife, 

Oh, heart be brave! 

Through trials, toils and tears. 

For better days to dawn, 
Until the last of life's brief years, 

Oh, heart hope on! 

Oh, heart! in sadness or in mirth, 

Dream ever of the best. 
For done the weary walk of earth, 

There's endless rest. 



34 LA TE SEPTEMBER 



I^ATE SEPTEMBER. 

np HOUGH chilly hints of winter time, 

Of snowflakes and the glittering rime, 

Now from that far off, colder clime 
The icy northland sends us. 

The fervid days of summer gone, 

The autumn with its charm comes on, 

And at the sunset or the dawn 
A spell of beauty lends us. 

With breaths of mellow, musky air 
September passes mild and fair, 
Presenting pictures everywhere 

Of gaudy colored glory. 
Rich-hued in purple, gold and green. 
The forest is a varied scene 
Of shadow blent with sunny sheen. 

As changeful as life's story. 

The stubble-land a bronze-hued plain, 
Is studded with the shocks of grain 
To where the lane divides in twain 

The wheatfield and the meadow. 
And fleecy clouds go floating by, 
Like dewey gossamers on high. 
In foam-like flecks across the sky, 

That's neither light nor shadow. 

Along the streams the muscadines. 
In dusky clusters on the vines. 



LA TE SEPTEMBER 35 



Are ripe and full of fragrant wines, 

And too, the nuts are browning 
On wooded hilltops where the beams 
Of golden sunlight softer gleams, 
For nature now with plenty teems, 
The harvest season crowning. 

As half in sorrow, half in mirth, 
September smiles the while the earth. 
Moves on to meet the winter's dearth 

Of beauty, halting never; 
As might a woman fair and sweet 
Who, all her charms become complete, 
Is waiting with reluctant feet 

To walk with age forever. 



36 , OCTOBER DAYS 



OCTOBER DAYS. 

' I 'he dreamy days have come once more 

And sweet October reigns, 
A queen of mystic beauty o'er 

The mountains and the plains; 
And nature's voices seem repressed, 

In mute mysterious ways. 
To silent, sleep-like, dreamful rest 

In still October days. 

Rich-hued, in crimson, gold and green 

The frosted forest shows 
An aspect bright of shifting sheen 

With every breeze that blows; 
For more in gladness than in grief 

The wind of autumn plays 
With fading flower and dying leaf 
In mild October days. 

The sun, the golden god of day, 

The dew of morning dries, 
As one might kiss the tears away. 

From love's sweet weeping eyes, 
And leaves along the meadow-field 

And on the bronzing wold. 
As on the woodlands leafy shield, 

A gleaming smile of gold. 

The briefer days that sooner bring 

The sunset with its dyes 
Of matchless hue that take the blue 

From out the Western skies. 



OCTOBER DA YS 37 



Have something in them soft and mild 
That weaves the heart a maze 

Of mem'ries sweet and fancies wild 
Of youth's October days. 

And though each old and idle dream 

And castle-built-in-air, 
That to the mind of youth did seem 

So wondrous and so fair, 
Have long since vanished into naught 

There yet with memory stays 
The halo of the joys they brought 

In old October days. 

For as a soul devoid of fear 

Goes boldly to the night 
Of death, it seems the dying year 

Assumes a smile of light. 
In tender skies that bend above 

The mountain's misty haze, 
That ever prompts the heart to love 

The sweet October days. 



38 AFTER THE FROST 



AFTER THE FROST. 

TNTO the dusky fold of night, 

When all the world is sleeping, 
A wizard foe to beauty bright 

On silent wings comes sweeping. 
The doom of leaf and flower, the frost. 

And when the dawn is lighting 
The world, and all the stars are lost 

In day, is seen his blighting. 

The melancholy breezes croon 

As if the earth were grieving. 
And morning glides to meet the noon 

Of rainbow colors weaving 
Bright figures on the landscape's face. 

Where dying leaf and flower 
In changing hue reveal apace 

The silent frost king's power. 

As some magician with his wand 

Had changed the blooming meadow 
From green to gray, so, too, beyond 

The forest with its shadow. 
That yesterday was living green. 

Today in gaudy glory 
Of purple sheen or gold is seen — 

As varied as life's story. 

The trees are drest in scarlet cloaks 
Or robes of golden splendor 

Where, from the branches of the oaks 
And willows lithe and slender, 



AFTER THE FROST 39 



Like tangled locks of yellow hair, 
The pendant vines are trailing; 

While over seas of mellow air 
The loosened leaves go sailing. 

The lorn wild bird, with eerie strain, 

Within the wood is calling, 
Where, like the patter of the rain. 

The ripened nuts are falling. 
The mountains melt into the sky 

Above the woodland mazes. 
Where mist-wove veils of vapor lie 

In blue and tender hazes. 

A wondrous scene of lovely kind, 

Whose beauty so entrances 
It charms the eye, and fills the mind 

With vague and dreamy fancies 
Whose true import no one might tell. 

So vast the number thronging. 
For air and sunbeam weave a spell 

Of deep intensest longing. 



40 DREAMS OF YOU 



DREAMS OF YOU. 

' np WAS dreams of you 

That waked in me the slumbering fires; 
And all the fervid, mad desires 
To do and dare that love inspires 
Are dreams of you. 

'Twas dreams of you 
Made sweet the golden, gladsome days 
Of youth. The world with blame nor praise 
Could gloom nor gleam life's sunny ways 
In dreams of you. 

'Tis dreams of you 

Makes music through the shadow'd night, 
While morning dawns in gladder light, 
And fancy floats its farthest flight 
In dreams of you. 

Still dreams of yovL\ 
And if when life's last day is o'er, 
And looms the distant darkling shore, 
I pass, nor fear the night before — 
'Twere dreams of you. 



SONG OF THE SOUTH 41 



SONG OF THK SOUTH. 

T IKK a garden in the splendor, 
Of the summer is the South, 
With its beauty bright and tender, 

And its story from the mouth 
Of some master minstrel singer. 

Were its love and valor told. 
In the minds of men would linger 

Like the classic lore of old. 

Land of bayou, brake and river. 

Of palmetto and of pine. 
And of lilied lakes a-quiver, 

In the shifting shade and shine. 
Where the vine festoons are swinging 

From the willows by the stream, 
And the mocking-birds are singing 

I/ike the music of a dream. 

Land of sun whose beauty brightens 

In the summer's afterglow. 
When the cotton fiber whitens 

To a filmy floss of snow; 
And the breeze sings in the mountains. 

With a song of mystery. 
Like the croon of unseen fountains 

Or the moaning of the sea. 

Land for which a band of brothers. 
Gallant sons and noble sires, 

Urged by spartan wives and mothers, 
Faced the flames of war's wild fires— 



42 SONG OF THE SOUTH 



When its history is written 

And the tale's on every tongue, 

Or some Homer's lyre is smitten 
And its deeds in epic sung — 

Then with mighty men of olden 

On the scroll of Time and Fame's, 
Written large in letters golden 

Were her galaxy of names — 
I/ike the star- writ page of glory 

Of a moonless midnight sky — 
For the South in song and story 

Is a theme to never die. 



NIGHTFALL 48 



NIGHTFAIvL. 

' I 'HROUGH mist red as a funeral pyre, 

A blood-tint disk of paling fire, 
That purple tips the mountain crest, 
The sun drops slowly down the west 
Unto the ocean dark and vast, 
Its tinge of amber fading fast. 
From wooded heights that longer cast 
Their shadows o'er the meadows. 

Then clouds, a crimson mountain range, 
In form grotesque, of beauty strange, 
Dissolve in air and leave in view 
The sky a vault of stainless blue 
With countless stars refulgent set, 
As earth and heav'n were rivals met 
In beauty such as never yet 

Were sweeter nor completer. 

And down the lane a music swells 
As lowing kine with jingling bells 
Come trooping home; and from the fields. 
Whose new turned sod a perfume yields. 
The ploughman calling to his team. 
So vague and shadowy, they seem 
The airy people of a dream 

Home-coming in the gloaming. 

Then dusk, a dim and dewy haze 
Of shadow, falls and veils the face 
Of earth that dreaming seems to lie 
Beneath the jewelled arch of sky, 



44 IN WINTER 



Till softly up the east and bright, 
Above the cedar-crested height 
Moonrise with rays of silver light 
That quiver on the river. 



IN WINTER. 



TN winter, with its blighting frost, 

We think of summer as we might 
Of beauty we had loved and lost. 
Or of some golden, sweet delight 
In days of long ago; 
For then the fireside's cheerful gleams 

Becomes a place of charm that brings, 
In reveries, the sweetest dreams, 
And fancy flies on fleeter wings 
Than winds that speed the snow. 

And memories of other days. 

When life was love, and loving truth. 
Come glimmering across the ways 

That lie in shadow, where in youth 
We walked with nimble feet; 
For though the tender flowers are dead. 

And all the singing, feathered throng 
Is from the leafless forest fled, 

We dream of summertime and song — 
And oh, the dream is sweet! 



TO THE POWERS THAT BE 45 



TO THE POWERS THAT BE. 

l^EEP ontalkin' and a-messin' 

In our little scrap with Spain, 
Thus your enmity confessin' 

In a sort of braggart vein. 
Just insist the Yankee nation 

Isn't actin' in the right, 
And you'll get an invitation 

For to help your neighbor fight. 

Keep on plottin' in communion 

In that underhanded way 
'Gainst the Anglo-Saxon Union, 

And you'll hear an Eagle bray. 
Keep on joinin' by the dozens, 

And threatenin' by the score, 
Till you ride our English cousins. 

And you'll hear a lyion roar. 

Better take a spell of poutin' , 

And be silent as a clam, 
Than be shoutin' and a-spoutin' 

Of your lickin' Uncle Sam. 
For he'll don his fightin' breeches, 

While you're knittin' on the clue; 
So be mindful of your stitches; 

Or there'll be a how-de-do. 

Keep on carpin' and a-harpin'. 
And a-fiddlin' on that string — 

How the English-speakin' people 
Want to gobble ev'rything — 



46 DAWN LIGHTS 



Of the Keep-shops and the Cobblers, 
And I tell you what they'll do; 

They are moguls of the gobblers, 
And, begob, they'll gobble you. 



DAWN lylGHTS. 



T SAW the light break through the pale 
Of darkness at the dawn, and sweep 
Across the mist enshrouded vale, 
Asleep in shadow deep. 

Then as the gleaming glory spread. 
Swift as a startled thief, the night, 

With all her sable minions, fled 
Before the fleet- winged light. 

Oft times a ceaseless sorrow lies, 
Life's discontenting shadow, on 

The heart a-wearj'^ while the eyes 
Weep, watching for the dawn. 

And swiftly, as the darkness drifts 
Before the light's unfolding scroll. 

The gracious dawn of love uplifts 
The sorrows from the soul. 



A MORNING THOUGHT 47 



A MORNING THOUGHT. 



T SAW the sun at morning rise, 

And watched its golden glints, 
In splendor spread across the skies, 

With many colored tints 
Of amber, gold and purple bright 

That decked the pallid blue 
Of starless sky with plumes of light, 
And then I thought of you — 
Of you, sweetheart, of you. 

I thought of mountains green and gray, 

Whose grandeur is sublime 
In beauty where the fountains play 

Sweet music like the chime 
Of fairy bells in far-off dells, 

Where, all the summer through, 
The shadows sleep in woodlands deep, 

And then I thought of you — 
Of you, sweetheart, of you. 

In fancy, too, I seemed to see. 

In youth's far faded morn. 
The olden scenes so dear to me 

Where fields of waving corn, 
And blossom, bush and meadow lush. 

Were wet with fragrant dew. 
That glimmered bright in glad sunlight 

And then I thought of you — 
Of you, sweetheart, of you. 



48 METRICAL WAIFS 



Thus often with the brilliant sheen 

Of dawn that heralds day, 
I think of some familiar scene 
Of home, though far away 
Amid the hills by rippling rills, 
Where skies are bright and blue, 
And then my heart enraptured thrills 
Because I think of you — 
Of you, sweetheart, of you. 



METRICAL WAIFS. 



A SUNBEAM through the leaden cloud 

I've seen in winter peep. 
And gild a snow world's fleecy shroud, 

And o'er the landscape sweep 
In floods of mellow light that crowns 

With gold the hills illume, 
lyike smiles of love that follow frowns 
The brighter for the gloom. 

When sin first marred primeval earth. 

And moved the master-mind 
To make of beauty, death and dearth 

Two things remained behind 
Amid the blight of Eden's bow'rs, 

Accurst because of sin, 
The music of bird song and flow'rs 

To prove what might have been . 



MY OLD SCRAP BOOK 49 



MY OI.D SCRAP BOOK. 



COMEWHKRE from the litter and dust of my den, 

I have carefully hidden away 
A treasured old volume the work of my pen 

In recording my life in its May. 
A whimsical jumble of fable and truth, 

Of the trifles as light as the air. 
That vary the mind of a light-hearted youth 

With a smile and a tear here and there. 

'Tis an old scrap-book that is yellow with age. 

And is falling to pieces with time, 
But it shadows forth my life's brightest stage, 

Its hopes and dreams recorded in rhyme. 
Too foolish, I know, for the eyes of the world, 

Yet too sacred to me for the flames, 
I hide it away from the light of the day. 

With its rhyme- written treasure of names. 

The names of my friends and the tokens so dear 

That in friendship were given to me; 
Mementoes of love I behold with a tear. 

And of follies I smile but to see. 
The trace of a face in a dark silhouette. 

Or in the shadowy art of Daguerre's; 
Of cedar a sprig and some dried mignonette 

That is crumbling to dust with the years. 

A ribbon of blue in rememberance of Sue, 

And a book-mark from fair Caroline; 
A dead, faded rose and a sweet billet-doux. 

With curl of her hair, silken fine, 



50 MY OLD SCRAP BOOK 



From Nellie, of whom, in her beauty and bloom, 
I believed in my heart's inner core 

It better the gloom of the cold silent tomb 
Than to live when she loved me no more. 

So I find it a part of memory's chain, 

With its links of the leaden and gold, 
Connecting the life of today with its pain 

To the glory and gladness of old; 
A boquet of bloom from the garden of dreams. 

In the freshness and fragrance of dawn. 
All redolent bright with the roseate gleams 

Of the light of the days that are gone. 



THE LITTLE HAND OF YOU 51 



THE LiTTIvB HAND OF YOU. 
{Li7ies to E. L.) 

' I ^HE sweetest I have ever known, 

The little hand of you, 
Conjoined so often with my own 

In friendship fond and true — 
Dear, little hand — sweet little hand! 

No tongue might ever tell 
Its tender touch so glad and grand — 

The hand I love so well ! 

So soft and dainty, yet so strong. 

By magic might it seems 
To lead me, helpless thrall, along 

The rosy road of dreams — 
Dear little hand — sweet little hand! 

Its gentle clasp a spell 
That thrills the heart with rapture grand- 

The hand I love so well. 

To memory so dear always! 

Remembered through the years. 
In all the ways and all the days. 

In laughter and in tears — 
Dear little hand — sweet little hand! 

In thought I love to dwell 
Forever where my heart is, and — 

The hand I love so well. 

The shapely hand of you afar. 

So beautiful, so slight, 
As tender as the roses are, 

And like the lilies white. 



52 THE BETTER DAYS 



The bravest knight of any land 
Would kiss — and never tell — 

The little hand — the comely hand, 
The hand I love so well! 



THE BETTER DAYS. 

A S down the shadowed vale of life, 

Through doubts we blindly grope, 
In all of sorrow and of strife 

The heart will cling to hope — 
Will cling to hope when health is gone, 

For through life's gloomy ways 
It leads us on to meet the dawn 
Of brighter, better days. 

When friends forsake us and our cups 

Of sorrow overflow, 
'Tis hope alone that cheers us up 

And bids us onward go — 
That bids us onward, upward strive; 

Through grief's bewildering haze, 
Until our weary feet arrive 

Where dawn the better days. 

When sweetest love has proved unkind, 

And all seems dark and sad, 
The light of hope alone we find 

Can ever make us glad. 
In loss or gain, in joy or pain. 

Sweet hope forever stays 
The heart that struggles on to gain. 

The brighter, better days. 



A SHADOW ON THE WALL 53, 



A SHADOW ON THE WAI,!.. 

"D BFORE a friendly fire aglow 

For all within around, 
Reminded by the falling snow 

And storm-winds eerie sound, 
I conjure visions up that tell 

Of youth's glad winter nights, 
And, rapt in recollections spell, 

Recall their sweet delights. 

For winter nights were free from care 

In youth's glad, golden time, 
When by the fireside gathered were 

A father in his prime, 
A sweet faced mother smiling, bland 

And, merry at their play, 
A group of happy children — and 

A grandsire, old and gray. 

The father read, the mother knit. 

And while the woodfire gleamed 
The youngsters laughed with merry wit 

As grandsire smoked and dreamed — 
Ah, me! but there come pictures rare. 

Yet best of all the train 
Is grandsire with his snow-white hair 

And pipe of cob and cane. 

If toasting chestnuts where the heat 

Fell on the broad hearthstone, 
Or mellow apples ripe and sweet. 
As red-cheeked as our own. 



54 A SHADOW ON THE WALL 



Then grandser sat with silent tongue, 

But smiling on us all 
The while the jQtful firelight flung 

His shadow on the wall. 

In silhouette, the figure seemed, 

Grotesque in constant change. 
As if of something one had dreamed, 

Phantasmal quaint and strange, 
But joining in with jolly glee. 

He loudest cheered of all. 
Not knowing we rejoiced to see 

His shadow on the wall. 

As grandser' s nose was large and long 

And pipe stem thin and short, 
The contrast was in profile strong 

And we in childish sport 
Would peep in through the open door. 

While huddled in the hall, 
To watch it grow a yard or more 

In shadow on the wall. 

With anecdote or counsel sage, 

He gave us oft at night 
The wisdom of his ripe old age 

To guide our lives aright. 
But though as true as gospel law 

His homilies would fall 
On ears unheeding if we saw 

The shadow on the wall. 

If merry tales the good man told. 

Brimful of spice and fun 
About the things "in days of old" 

That he had seen or done, 



A SHADOW ON THE WALL 55 



We listened then with gleeful soul 
And on the floor would sprawl, 

Convulsed with laughter for so droll— 
The shadow on the wall. 

We loved him for his noble heart 

And when the shadow fell, 
Of death that told us we apart 

From him through life must dwell, 
Reflecting on the mischief that 

Was then beyond recall 
We wept, who'd smiled so often at 

His shadow on the wall. 

He's sleeping now where ivy grows. 

And summer roses bloom 
And where in winter time the snows 

Lie cold upon the tomb; 
But on my heart, as time swift flies, 

In pleasure, pain and all. 
My dear old grandser's shadow lies 

As once upon the wall. 



56 BOLUS 



BOLUS. 



l^OIyUS dwells among the groves, 
A restless sprite that ever roves 
On viewless wings around; 
And in the day of shining light, 
Or in the sombre gloom of night, 
His vibrant songs resound. 



Low, wordless songs, divinely soft. 
His harp of needle plays aloft 

The spicy pines, a-tune 
To pathos, as a lover sighs, — 
Sweet as the sleepy lullabys 

A mother loves to croon. 



When south winds blow in balmy spring 
Where blossoms on the branches swing. 

And all the woods around 
Are tuneful with the singing bird, 
Eolus' eerie harp is heard 

In drowsy, dreamful sound. 



When summer fragrance fills the air, 
And nature all is green and fair. 

His gentle voice awakes 
A murmur in the tender leaves 
That for the spirit tho' it grieves 

The sweetest music makes. 



BOLUS 57 



When autumn nights are growing chill, 
With hints of frost upon the hill, 

Where cold the mist-wraith flies, 
An augury of death that grieves, 
Eolus in the crisping leaves 

A wailing banshee cries. 

When winter raves with angry shout 
Till winds have blown their fury out, 

Eolus flutes again 
Among the needles and the cones 
Of pine in wierd unearthly tones 

A melancholy strain. 



68 HOW FLOWS THE BROOK 



HOW FLOWS THE BROOK. 

r^ROM the tiniest of fountains, 

Up among the misty mountains, 

To a rivulet it swells; 
Winding down among the mosses 
Till a pebbly shoal it crosses 

'Twixt the woody slopes and dells 
Where it ripples as the meter 
Of a measured song and sweeter 

Than a chime of silver bells. 

Over sunken boulders swirling, 
By the ferny places purling 

Where the lazy turtles dream; 
Like a serpent in the grasses 
Thro' the reedy marsh it passes 

To a stiller, broader stream. 
Where the great mill-wheel is turning 
To a spray the waters churning, 

Flashing with a rainbow gleam. 

Then by corn fields softly gliding, 
In the alder copses hiding 

Its slender silver thread; 
Thro' the meadows slowly creeping. 
From the tangled grasses peeping 

At the blue sky overhead; 
Then a lake that lies a-dreaming, 
With its bosom white and gleaming, 

Where the snowy lilies spread. 



THE QUERY 59 



Thence it onward flows forever 
To the broad and shining river, 

With a joyful song of glee; 
Thro' the tufts of wiry rushes 
And the drooping willow bushes, 

Flowing softly, flowing free — 
If we're waking or we're sleeping, 
If we're smiling or we're weeping. 

Fares it to the gray old sea. 



THE QUERY. 

\7^HAT would you say. 
If some sweet day, 
I should kneel down at your feet 

And there confess 

I loved you best 
Of all the world, my sweet? 

(what she said.) 

If you should kneel 

So low, I'd feel 
That you were never the one 

To win my heart. 

By any art, 
Were it ever so lightly done. 



60 KEPT HIS WORD 



KEPT HIS WORD. 

A STOKER on the steamer "Swan" 
Was Windy Pete or Peter Vaughn 
A lover, too, of whiskey 
This fireman had a wordy way 

Of having out his little say. 
But on the boat the standing joke 

Was " Windy 's" words went up in smoke 
That trusting him was risky. 
His vaunting vows were sure to be 
The subjects for a smile but he 
Was wont to say: "You fellows 
Have got an idy here aboard 

That I could never keep my word; 
That I'm a stranger to the truth; 
A wayback liar from my youth, 
A bag of wind, a bellows. 
' ' But by the gods of holy smoke 

Some day I'll turn about the joke 
And then you'll see your error." 
So thus from time to time he swore 

He'd do some dreadful deed before 
The day was over, something mad. 

But Windy 's empt)'^ vauntings had 
In them for us no terror. 

Once having had an extra cup 

He swore; "I'll blow this cussed steamboat up 
The hull caboodle in it," 
But not a man among the crew 

Who paid the least attention to 



KEPT HIS WORD 61 



The threat, but smiling, winked and said 

Old Pete is blowing off his head 

To ease his mind a minute. 

And yet he tied the "pop valves" down 

And raised the steam five hundred pounds. 
When crash! without a warning, 
The steam escaped with thunder-boom. 

The boilers blown to "Kingdom Come," 
And then the remnant of that crew 

Alive though shocked and shaken knew 
He'd kept his word that morning. 



62 SUMMER NIGHT 



SUMMER NIGHT. 

f-I ARK, the whip-poor-will is calling 

■*■ On the hill; 

And the dewy mists are falling 

'Round the rill; 
Downward drop the dusky shadows, 

Gray the gloom 
Of the twilight on the meadows, 

Bright in bloom. 

Filmy, as if fairy fingers 

Limned the light 
On the sky, the sunset lingers, 

Brilliant, bright 
Pencilings that fading slowly 

Melt and mark 
Marge of earth and sky as lowly 

Drops the dark. 

In the gloaming booms the river 

Faint and far; 
With a light that seems to quiver, 

Shines a star 
To the westward, while the clover 

Spirit steals 
In a matchless odor, over 

From the fields. 

For the tale of day is ended; 

Ever ends 
Thus the book so bright and splendid, 

Summer sends; 



ALONE BY THE SEA 63 



And the night of marv'lous mystery, 

Dark and deep, 
Then — that none may read — her history 

Seals in sleep. 



ALONE BY THE SEA. 



A I/ONE on the sands by the sea one night 

I lay looking up at the sky, 
And the cold star- worlds, so far and so bright, 
Gleaming down from their spheres on high. 
With a ripple and plash the old, old sea 

Rolled restless and troubled, I thought, 
And its voice, the voice of eternity. 
Spoke not of rest my sad soul sought. 

A dread crept in on my heart, there alone. 

In the gloom on the sounding shore. 
And my conscience spoke, in a thunder tone. 

At thoughts of my life gone before; 
For all came back in a moment of time — 

The past, the rights and wrongs of years; 
And I felt to my soul a warning sublime 

Was that feeling of hopes and fears. 

I thought of the times in the by-gone days 

When I feared not judgment nor doom — 
When tired of the world and its sorrowful ways 

I had longed for the quiet tomb. ' 
But there came to me then a warning deep. 

Out there with the stars and the sea, 
And I felt the rest of eternal sleep. 

Were now never enough for me. 



84 ALONE BY THE SEA 



I thought of the universe, great and small, 

And of its weak atom called man — 
Of the heights and depths and glory of all 

As compared with a life's short span; 
And I prayed in that consecrated place 

That the will of the great Unknown 
Would give to me more than this life's brief space — 

Would grant immortality's boon. 



LINES TO ONE THA T DIED 65 



UNES TO ONE THAT DIED. 



T STAND upon the bridge today- 
Alone, and lost in weeping, 
I watch the waters glide away 

Adown the valley, sleeping 
Beneath the blue and cloudless sky 

Of sunny summer weather, 
As when in happy daj'S gone by 

We wandered here together. 

The maples whisper overhead. 

Below the waters quiver, 
While living green the meadows spread 

Beside the shining river. 
The trailing vines, that fringe the trees 

With garlands green, are blooming. 
Their flowers fair the passing breeze 

With fragrance sweet perfuming. 

The landscape near, afar and fair. 

Presents a scene of gladness 
Enrobed in beauty everywhere. 

And yet my heart with sadness 
Recalls the happy days of old 

That passed in love laughter. 
Not dreaming in the sunshine's gold 

Of shadows coming after. 

For we, when sweethearts, often here 

Retold the old, old story. 
And planned a future bright and clear • 

With naught to gloom its glory. 



66 LINES TO ONE THA T DIED 

And then the murmur of the stream 
That meet our laughter ringing 

Was like the music of a dream 
When youth of love is singing. 

But thinking here today alone, 

So hopeless seems the morrow, 
In threnodies it seems to moan 

As if it shared my sorrow ; 
And as I watch the ripples play 

Across the tide in motion 
It bears my falling tears away 

A tribute to the ocean. 



A MID-WINTER DREAM 67 



A MID- WINTER DREAM. 



'T'HO' it's winter I dream 

Of a serpentine stream, 
With its wimple and gleam, 

By the hill ; 
And the low humming sound 
Of the wheels whirling round 
Where the corn's being ground 

At the mill. 

Of the ferns by the pond, 
With their feathery frond ; 
And the meadows beyond 

Purple drest, 
Where the water flows by 
With a glimpse of the sky 
In a picture awry 

On its breast. 

Of the shadowy pall 
That is thrown over all 
By the forest trees tall 

On its brink. 
Till the ford cleaves a breach 
Through the birches and beech 
That the cattle must reach 

Ere they drink. 

Of the grass green and rank, 
Where I dream on the bank 
Of the pool dark and dank. 
While I look 



68 A MID-WINTER DREAM 



At my rod with a wish 
For the tremulous swish 
Of the line when a fish 
Takes the hook. 

Of the old rustic bridge 
And the hazelly hedge 
Drooping over the edge 

Of the road — 
And the long winding lane, 
With a slow moving train, 
Where the country bred swain, 

With his goad, 
Drives the oxen by twain. 
In a hay-laden wain, 
Or the yellow-sheaved grain 

For a load. 

O'er the wide stubble land 

To that bridge, wooden-spanned, 

Where a-d reaming I stand, 

Softly sweet. 
On the breeze from the vale. 
Sounds the call of the quail 
And the fall of the flail 

On the wheat. 

But the sounds die away 
At the close of the day. 
And the purple turns gray 

In the west, 
For the fields lying white 
In the silvery light 
Of the moon shining bright 

Seem to rest. 



THE PLAINT OF THE WORLD 66 



Yet the stream, gliding slow 
With a murmuring low, 
In a shimmering bow 

By the hill. 
Flows to the far sea coast 
While I look from my post 
At the moonshiny ghost 

Of the mill. 



THE PI.AINT OF THK WORIvD. 

/^H, sing us a song, happy singer! 

A song of lightsomeness and glad, 
To cheer up the grieved and the weary. 

For the heart of the world is sad. 
Give us a strain of martial music; 

A strain replete of life and fire, 
That throbs with a joy through the senses 

Ivike the quivering strings of the lyre. 

Thus the plaint of the world, unthinking. 

Cries up in selfishness of woe. 
While hid in the breast of the singer 

Are griefs that the world may never know. 
For it dreams not the bard could sorrow 

And bear in silence his part — 
Or could know in the grave low lieth, 

With his own, the glad singer's heart. 



70 A SONG BY 'SEPHUS 



A SONG BY 'SEPHUS. 

^^H, de white man alius singin' 

Ob de fiel's ob growin' wheat, 
An' de mocker's songs a-ringin' 

Wen de woodlan's smellin' sweet; 
Ob de blossom's on de clover, 

An' de dewdrap on de rose, 
Wid a sweetness brimmin' over, 

Whar de bee fer honey goes. 

An' he chune de lyre — he call it — 

Fer to sing about de cha'm 
Ob a country life an' all at 

Is belong about a fa'm; 
An' he says de poet's duty 

Is to sing a song in praise 
Ob de springtime wid its buty, 

Or de sunny summer days. 

In de spring a niggah's lazy, 

An' de appertite is po' , 
While in summer hot an' blazy, 

He is nebber got no show 
To enjoy hese'f a-sleepin'; 

Fer de skeeters, flies an' t'ings 
Cum a-bitin' an' a-creepin. 

Or a-buzzin wid de wings. 

So ole 'Sephus chune de fiddle, 
An' he rawzum up de bow, 

Fer to frolic 'roun' a liddle 

Wen de summer time's no mo'; 



A SONG BY 'SEPHUS 71 



An' he sing a song ob falltime, 
An' de sog'um-makin' days, 

Dat am sweetes' , best ob all time 
Wid de candy-puUin' plays. 

I ain't care fer bee ner blossom 
Wen de wheat is at de mill, 
Nur fer birds at all we'n possum 
Is a-fittin' fer to kill— 
We'n de pumpkin's gittin yeller. 
An' de nuts am turnin' brown, 
Wid de apples ripe an' meller 
An a-fallin' to de grown'. 

W'en de fros' mek sweet de 'simmon, 

Dat is hangin' high an' ripe, 
Or de yam pertater's swimmin' 

In de gravy wid de tripe — 
Cose I wants my sins fergibbin' 

Des bekase salvation's free, 
But to eat an' dream of hebbin 

Is glory ernuff fer me. 



7? PALL DA YS ON THE FARM 



FALL DAYS ON THE FARM. 

T LOVE the mellow days of fall, 

When apples and the peach 
Are rosy ripe, and o'er the wall 

The grape fruit hangs in reach. 
'Tis then the ripened nuts drop down. 

And then I long to be 
On sunny days, out from the town 

To rove the forest free. 

I love the sombre woodland scenes 

Of quietness and shade, 
The fern and moss-emborder'd streams 

That sap the flower'd glade. 
I love the hills where wind-whip't spray 

In blue wreathes curl and rise, 
And lofty mountains grim and gray, 

Whose summits kiss the skies. 

I love the merry haying days, 

When the jolly farmer mows, 
And low the fragrant clover lays 

Beside the brook that flows 
It's way with gentle murmur through 

The copse of alder wood, 
And steals way down the meadow view 

To swell the river's flood. 

I love the farm of fertile fields, 

With golden grain replete; 
The soften'd charm the gloaming wields 

When cow bells jingle sweet — 



PALL DA YS ON THE FARM 73 



The moon on high, the starry sky, 
When by the winding lane. 

On frosty nights when breezes sigh, 
The rustics grind the cane. 

I love to see the sorghum mill 

Pour out the nectar sluice, 
Or slyly loiter at my will 

Around the boiling juice; 
To watch the red-lipp'd country maid, 

With blue and laughing eyes. 
Who deftly wields a wooden spade 

When amber bubbles rise 

I love such scenes and love them well, 

Because they fill my heart 
With memories, the which to tell 

Make happy tear drops start — 
Because far down by vanished life. 

Safe shelter' d from all harm, 
I see myself and little wife 

When sweethearts on the farm. 



74 THE FAIR MUSICIAN 



THE FAIR MUSICIAN. 

T WATCH her as she plays alone 

A girl of gentle grace — 
The light, thro' filmy curtains thrown, 

Falls on her faultless face; 
And half in shadow, half in gleam, 

She seems a thing divine. 
As might a master painter's dream 

An angel form design. 

She sings — her voice is low and sweet. 

As from the mock-bird's throat; 
And from her fingers falling fleet 

The music seems to float, 
In melodies of love or grief. 

That sets the heart of woe 
A-tremble like the pendant leaf 

When summer breezes blow. 

I<ow, dreamful, with a cadence soft, 

A minor strain is done, 
And then her fingers held aloft 

A moment ere they run 
A gleeful score, in rapt accord, 

I/ike flights of snowy bees 
That flit and flash along the board 

To kiss responsive keys. 

At last a song of sacred lore 
Her lips breathe forth a spell, 

Like music from that sinless shore 
Where saints immortal dwell; 



LIFES PROBLEM 75 



Then I forget my earthly dole 
Of sorrow and of wrong 

For up to heaven's height my soul 
Is lifted with the song. 



I^IFE'S PROBLEM. 

T N working simple problems out, 

Whereof I knew the rule, 
I often got my answers wrong 

When I was in the school; 
The master then would kindly say: 

"To make the matter plain. 
We'll rub the figures out, my lad. 

And do the sum again." 

So reckoning our words and deeds, 

The sum of life to state, 
We often find the problems wrong 

As on the school-boy's slate, 
And therefore in the sum of life. 

It's pleasures and it's pain, 
We'd gladly blot the figures out 

And cast them up again. 



76 SONG 0' MOONLIGHT MEMORIES 



SONG O' MOONI.IGHT MEMORIES. 

HP HE landscape in the dewy night, 

Beneath the pallid moon, 
Is ghostly, like the specter white 

Of some sweet summer noon; 
While over all a witching spell 

The mystic dream-light throws. 
The vagrant breezes pass that tell 

Of having kissed the rose. 

In mono-song, the whip-poor-wills 

Are .singing by the stream, 
Where in the shadow of the hills 

The twinkling fireflies gleam; 
And like a tented field at night, 

Wan, spectral in the gloom. 
The dark wildwood is dappled white 

With dots of dogwood bloom. 

And flowing slow the river moans 

Afar off, faint and low, 
As if in weird, unearthly tones. 

The bells of long ago; 
And then the moonlight scenes of yore. 

Phantasmal in their train. 
Return to thrill me as before 

With pleasure half a pain. 

For as with current deep and strong, 
By tangled copse and brake, 

The singing water sweeps along. 
Strange, solemn thoughts awake. 



THE VOICE A T MANILA 77 



As if the bells of memory 
Were tolling sad and slow 

The death of happy dreams for me 
In loves of long ago. 



THE VOICE AT MANII.A. 

A T far Manila by the sea, 

The sleeping Spaniard lay, 
And dreamed his foe was cowardly, 

And still was far away. 
What sound was it that came at morn, 

What voice their slumbers broke? 
Nor crack-o-doom, nor judgment horn — 
'Twas Dewey's cannon spoke. 

"Thus we remember Cuba's wrongs. 

Her unoffending slain; 
Her ruined homes, her starving throngs. 

Our seamen of the Maine. 
Thus we avenge defenseless ones 

To death untimely hurled," 
Said Dewey's guns, in thunder tones, 

That echoed 'round the world. 



78 A SONG OF AUTUMN 



A SONG OF AUTUMN. 

TT is fall time and I'm dreaming, 

Of the forest with its dyes, 
Many colored brightly gleaming, 

In the sunlight from the skies; 
And I see no signs of sadness 

Through the tender autumn haze, 
For it fills my heart with gladness 

As in childhoods happy days. 

And my fancy goes a rover , 

From the busy marts of town 
Through the dreamy hazes over 

All the woods and meadows brown. 
Where the yellow leaves are shining. 

In the sunlight and the trees 
With the slender vines entwining 

Wave as banners in the trees. 

By the charms of autumn bidden. 

In a careless walk and slow, 
Down a pathway that is hidden 

By the fallen leaves I go; 
And the breezes seem to whisper 

In a gentle loving talk. 
Making every leaf a lisper 

To me on my lonely walk. 

Sounds are heard as voices calling, 
And as feet that lightly tread. 

Where the ripened nuts are falling. 
And the frosted leaves are dead, 



A SONG OF AUTUMN 79 



As if Spirits from the goodlands 
Of the Red men passed away. 

Haunted yet their native woodlands 
In the bright autumnal day. 

And in silent thought I ponder, 

Heedless how the moments fly, 
For as onward still I wander 

Where the denser shadows lie. 
Something seems abroad that fills me 

With a nameless, sweet delight, 
For the autumn's beauty thrills me 

As no other season's might. 



80 COLUMBIA WEEPS 



COI.UMBIA WEEPS. 

T^EATH that loves a shining target, 

Through the traitor-demon's hands 
Often strikes the best and greatest 

Men of this and other lands; 
And alas ! by deeds resulting 

From the foul assassin's plan, 
Thrice we've mourned a murdered Chieftain 

In the memory of man. 

Late in palace and in hovel. 

Where that prince or pauper dwell. 
There was universal praj^er, 

For a man all loved so well. 
While the Master takes him from us. 

Let it not as cruel seem 
That a nation's tears and prayers 

May not change the Will supreme. 

Truly great our latest martyr, 

Not in warlike deeds of blood, 
But the true and best exemplar 

Of a ruler just and good; 
For the patriot, McKinley, 

Hero true as ever bled 
In defence of faith or country. 

Now is numbered with the dead. 

« 
Now the weary watch is over, 

And the Christian spirit flown. 
Called of heaven to its Maker, 

Full of honors to the Throne; 



COLUMBIA WEEPS SI 



Yea, the faithful vigil's ended, 
And the people weep as one; 

Weep as might a widowed mother 
For a loved and only son. 

And the widow's heart is breaking 

While her hero husband sleeps — 
Sleeps the sleep that knows no waking- 

And Columbia with her weeps; 
For we loved him as a brother. 

He that sleeps in sainted rest, 
And we mourn him as no other 

Than a friend the truest, best. - 

And in common heartfelt sorrow 

North or South or East or West — 
Neither feels its loss as greatest — 

One is mourning with the rest; 
For we all had learned to love him 

For his noble earnest plea 
That a once divided nation 

In a stronger union be. 

So, our former strife forgotten. 

Out across the vanished years, 
We extend the hand of friendship. 

All relenting in our tears; 
All relenting and forgiving 

Love and sympathy we send 
To our grieving Northern brothers, 

For the South has lost a friend. 



82 A SONG OF THE BROOK 



A SONG OF THE BROOK. 

TF you have ever dreamed beside 

A limpid woodland stream, 
And watched its crystal waters glide, 

A silver flood a-gleam 
With shifting shafts of trembling light 

That dappled through the trees 
The shadows on its bosom bright, 

Aquiver with the breeze. 

Or loitered by the dimpled pool 

Where cattle came to drink, 
And lain within the shadows cool 

Along its grassy brink; 
Or heard the lullaby it sings 

When there with hook and line, 
Then you will understand the things 

That prompt this verse of mine. 

For I have spent my sweetest days 

lyone wandering in the woods, 
Along the winding waterways 

Of sombre solitudes; 
There heard the tinkling tones it made 

O'er pebble-studded ground. 
As if a fairy harp were played 

Of dulcet, dreamful sound. 

And on its breast reflected seen 

The sky's unclouded blue. 
And often in the summer been 

A spell-bound listener to 



A SONG OF THE BROOK 83 



Its roaring cataract that rolled 
O'er beetling steeps of stone 

In brilliant bubbles manifold 
Whereon the rainbow shone. 

And on its shady banks where bent, 

The willow boughs above, 
Full many happy hours I've spent 

In dreaming dreams of love, 
Bright as the meteoric gleam 

The minnows flashed below. 
As silver darts, athwart the stream, 

Shot from an unseen bow. 

Back to the old familiar brooks 

My fancy fleetly wings, 
For to their cool and shady nooks 

My memory sweetly clings; 
And I would feel the charm again 

Of days that fled so fast, 
For heart was in the future then 

And now it's in the past. 



84 DA WN, NOON AND SUNSET 



DAWN, NOON AND SUNSET. 

' I *HK morning breaks in splendor, 

With brilliant tints and fair, 
That bright the hazes render, 

As though my sweetheart's hair 
In silken folds were streaming. 

By gentle breezes blown 
To tangled gold, and gleaming, 

With sun and star light strewn . 

When all the clouds have drifted, 

At noonday from the skies. 
My gaze is upward lifted 

As if my sweetheart's eyes 
Were beaming bright above me 

In blue and tender light. 
And questioned: "Do you love me, 

With heart and soul aright?' ' 

And when the sunset blushes 

And tints the shining west 
With rosy light that flushes 

On cloud and mountain crest, 
'Tis like a red rose blowing 

From which the dew drop drips. 
Or like, with kisses glowing. 

My sweetheart's tender lips. 

So sunset, noon or morning. 

Though skies may gloom or gleam. 
With glory all adorning, 

I see and of her dream — 



WHEN LOVE WAS KIND 85 



Her beauty's all completeness, 
Her lips, her eyes, her hair 

And all the untold sweetness 
That makes her face so fair. 



WHKN I,OVE WAS KIND. 

"^XZHKN love was kind, if you had known 

Dear heart, that bitterness 
Would come to us when yours had flown 

Would you have loved me less? 
And if the gloomy veil were rent, 

And all things as before; 
And happiness again were lent, 

Say, would I love you more? 

When love was kind and youth, dear heart, 

I^ent blessings on your years, 
Could we have gladder been, apart 

From love's sweet hopes and fears? 
Nay, nay — ^we'd then love's richest store, 

A love full free and blind, 
And life, nor death, were less nor more 

Than bliss when love was kind. 



86 A FALLEN HERO 



A FALLEN HERO. 

/^LD Soldier Samuel Picklesaurs, 

Would set an' splavigate 
Of how he faced the leaden hail, 
From airly morn till late; 
Through scenes of blood and thunder, 
'Till flesh 'ud creep with wonder, 
And one would think 'twas he preserved 
The Union an' our State. 

He told of how he fit the "Rebs," 

In fur off Dixie Land, 
An' piled the fields with Southern dead 
Like leaves upon the strand; 
An' hours an' hours he rattled 
Of how he bravely battled, 
An' , Zounds, the bluff he had on us 
Wuz jist immensely grand. 

He drawed a monthly pension frum 

The guvernment in "tin," 
An' loafed around the bar-rooms whar 

He took his nip of gin. 
One day when he wuz gassin. 

His lady wuz a-passin' 
An' she heard him to the street, 

An' she boldly sauntered in; 

An' the way she went fur war-hoss Sam 
I tell you wuz a sin. 



A FALLEN HERO 87 



She whacked him on the noddle hard, 

She bumped him with a brick; 
She tript and rolled him on the floor 
A sort of double-quick — 
She riled him and she spiled him 
She tore his clothes an' siled 'em, 
An' when that female quit old Sam 
Wuz looking purty sick. 

His glory now is flukered out, 

Jist like a fallen star, 
An' fightin' stock o' Sam has dropt 
To zero pint frum par, 
Fur people's got to knowin' 
Old Sam has been a-blowin' , 
An' they call him "Windy Sam" 
When he mentions of the war. 



PICKIN' DE GEESE IN DE SKY 



PICKIN' DE GEESE IN DE SKY. 

^X/^'EN snow-fleeks is fallin', an' kibbrin de groun', 

An' de win' is a-whistlin' a chune 
De shingles is dance, wid a wing-flappin' soun', 

On de roof in de dark o' de moon, 
Us chilluns remembah de story wbat's tol' 

O' de 'oman dat lib up'n high, 
Who lazy aroun' twell de weathah is col' 

Fur a-pickin' her geese in de sky. 

Aunt Judy-IvOU telled us a long time ago, 

Dat a 'oman waz lib in a cloud 
Who feeded her geese on de ice stid o' dough, 

An' de snow wuz de3^r fedders she 'lowed; 
An' nobody know what her name is I guess, 

But dey say w'en de snow 'gins ter fly 
'De little ol' 'oman who's lazy is dess 

Went ter pickin' her geese in de sky. 

De Jack-rabbit crawls in a big hollah log, 

An' de kittypuss stay by de fire. 
An' chickenses walk lak a ol' yollah dog 

W'en he's hurted his foot wid a bri'r. 
De pattidges hunt fur a wa'm stack o' straw. 

An' "potter-rack" de ginny-hens cry, 
Wile li'l pigs huddle an' squeel fur deyr ma 

W'n she's pickin' her geese in de sky. 

De clouds is a kin' o' a crinkled black. 

As dey rolics an' frolics erbout, 
De win' w'ispers low down de ol' chimly stack, 

Den he scamper away wid a shout. 



THE WIND AMONG THE PINES 89 



De ceda' trees w'eeze lak a w'eel wantin' greased, 
An' de pine-needles mo'n an' dey sigh, 

But de pickanimy tickled fur he's pleased 
We'n she's pickin' her geese in de sky. 



THE WIND AMONG THE PINES. 

A IX, through the bright autumnal day, 
By reed and fern along the way, 
The waters gently flow; 
While lisping in an unknown tongue 

The breezes come and go. 
And as a lullaby were sung, 
The pines croon soft and low. 

Than autumn winds the pines among, 
No sweeter songs were ever sung 

By mocking birds that wing 
About the groves — nor by the streams 

That babble by the spring. 
For like the songs a lover dreams 

In plaintive tones they sing. 

Imagination ! call it so, 

But loving songs of long ago, 

In sweetest cadence ring — 
As music slips from lovers' lips. 

Or tender caroling 
Of wild birds when the wind is heard 

Among the pines to sing. 



90 THE LAST KISS 



THE I.AST KISS. 
{A Parody.) 

T PUT by tlie half written challenge 

While the pen feebly held in my grip 
Writes on: "Had I courage to send it 

Who would read it or who care a flip' ' 
But the bustle of hastening footsteps 

At the parting of lips in the hall, 
And the scramble and scrap in the darkness 

Cry up to me over it all. 

So I leave it alone, and, forsaking 

The sad, tangled skein of my scheme, 
Tell of how as one night I was courting 

When something broke in on my dream — 
An ugly, suspicious, old meddler. 

My darling's own dad with the cold 
Of the snow in his heart, and the bulky 

Big boots of the bandits of old. 

A big-fisted man and I shuddered, 

"For was it a moment like this," 
I thought when he knew I was taking 

My leave and — and a good night kiss, 
To come thundering in unexpected, 

And putting my prowess to scorn, 
Go swearing away like a fury 

To the art of profanity born. 

Lord pity the state of my feelings 
From the hurts I received in the fray, 

And take from my bad battered visage 
The numberless bruises away — 



THE LAST KISS 91 



Take, L,ord, from memory forever 
The thought of his powerful feet — , 

And the twist-o'-neck that he gave me 
When he hustled me out on the street. 

So I put by the half written challenge, 

While the pen, feebly held in my grip, 
Writes on: "Had I courage to send it 

Who would read it or who care a flip?' ' 
But the bustle of hastening footsteps. 

At the parting of lips in the hall. 
And the scramble and scrap in the darkness 

Cry up to me over it all. 



92 WHEN NELLIE SINGS 



WHEN NBIylylE SINGS. 

\X7HEN Nellie smiles her matchless eyes 

I/ight up as gleaming through 
A rift of cloud, the summer skies 

Illumed in tender blue. 
But lovely smiles and eyes that beam, 

And lips that vie with spring's 
Red roses vanish in a dream 

Of sound when Nellie sings. 

For Nellie's tones in gladness rise 

And dulcet rondels ring 
As 'twere a strain from paradise 

When choirs seraphic sing. 
In quavering, quaint sweet psalmody 

Her witching notes they float 
As songs of matchless melody 

From out an angel throat. 

When songs of sorrow Nellie sings, 

Her threnodies remind 
One of the sweep of unseen wings 

Or of the moaning wind. 
Weird as the genii of despair 

In anguished wail and sob. 
Her eerie strains float on the air, 

A tear in every throb. 

But songs of love sweet Nellie sings, 

In low and liquid trills. 
So like a lyre whose trembling strings 

At every quaver thrills, 



FA TE 93 



She breathes a wave of mellow tones, 

So silvery sweet and fine, 
No rapt and listening ear but owns 

Her monodies divine. 



FATE. 

'HP WAS years ago — not yester nor today 

That youth, my sweet, was yours and mine, 
And yet your memory's thrilling, dear, for aye, 
Oh, vanished days of lost sunshine! 

We met, and drifting calmly down life's stream. 

So glad for one brief day were we, 
As over the tide, in a blissful dream, 

We sailed on to a troubled sea. 

We loved. In happy hours I kissed your lips 
As south winds touch the rose tree's child; 

Or as from honied flow'rs the wild bee sips; 
And bathed in beauty when you smiled. 

We parted then in anger; -nay in pain, 

' Twas fate — ' 'God' s will and well, ' ' you said — 

And never will blossom for us again 
I^ove's stricken flow'r, faded and dead. 



94 MY DREAMS OF THE SOUTH 



MY DREAMS OF THE SOUTH. 
( To F. S. W. ) 

"TOURING boyhood in the mountains, 

Of the South I often dreamed, 
And the willow leaves a-quiver 

Where the moonlit waters gleamed; 
Of the live oaks and the cypress 

B}^ the lonely, dark lagoons, 
And the Spanish mosses trailing 

Down in silvery festoons. 

Dreamed of fields of cane and cotton, 

Where the darkies sang by day. 
And the tinkle of their banjos 

In the gloaming shadows gray; 
Of the planter's stately mansion 

In an Eden full of bloom. 
Where the breezes rolled in billows 

Like a sea of sweet perfume. 

And I dreamed of lovely women 

Dark of eye with raven hair. 
Hedged about with fount and flower, 

And with all that's sweet and fair. 
Dreamed their voices were as gentle 

As the murmur of a stream, 
While their lives in love and laughter 

Passed as sweetly as a dream. 

While I grew apace to manhood, 
Warring oft with want and care. 

Still my dreams were ever with me 
Of the Sunny South so fair; 



MY DREAMS OF THE SOUTH 95 



So I drifted with my fancies, 
Ere my heart was old and cold, 

To that dreamed-of land of beauty, 
As a miser might for gold. 

I have seen the fields of cotton 

At the harvest and in bloom, 
And I've heard the darkies crooning 

In the morning and at noon. 
I have heard the breezes murmur 

In the fragrant groves of pine. 
And the mocking bird a-singing 

With a heart a-tune to mine. 

While my heart remains yet loyal 

To the country of my youth, 
I am deeper still enchanted 

With the Sunny South, in truth, 
For the olden dreams and golden 

That of it my boyhood knew, 
Charm me with the all-completeness 

Of my sweetest dream come true. 



THE BADGE OF THE BRA VE 



THE BADGE OF THE BRAVE 
{Lines to a Confederate Veteran Wearing the Cross of Honor.) 

T MEET him and note that the cross that he wears 

On his breast is the badge of the brave, 
And mark that a sleeve of his coat empty bears 

Witness, too, of the price that he gave; 
An arm, in defense of the place of his birth — 

Dixie Land— and the old "Rebel Yell" 
Again seems to startle the powers of earth 

With the deeds of a nation that fell. 

That emblem recalls me a vision toda)"^ 

Of a host in a struggle sublime 
When courage was proved by the carnage and fray 

In the cause of our sweet sunny clime. 
For all gallant sons of the war- god Mars 

None has better fought, and few so well 
As the soldier who followed the Stars and Bars 

"Of the storm-cradled nation that fell." 

I see in his visage the type of his race, 

And as sadly his features I scan, 
I read in the pride-written look on his face 

That he's worthy the cross of his clan — 
That honor is ever alive in his breast 

For the battle-scarred veteran may tell 
The tale of the heroes, the bravest and best, 

"Of the storm-cradled nation that fell." 

But I see in the man a remnant, alas! 

Of the troopers who fought for the right 
In legions of honor whose glory shall pass 

Not, but ever in lustre more bright 



LIFBS DAY 97 



Illumine the pages where valor is told, 
For no story of deeds is to tell 

More brave than is told of the patriot bold 
"Of the storm-cradled nation that fell." 



LIFE'S DAY. 



A T morning when the heart was young, 

And life's long day before me lay, 
Ambition sung with siren tongue 

To lure me on the way. 
Though swiftly fled the morning beams, 

No fleeting moment passed too soon 
That sped me onward in my dreams 
Toward the shining noon. 

The ardent light of midday bright 

That seemed so far yet fair came by, 
And then its beauty palled as might 

False love and with a sigh, 
I with the shadows turned my face 

And looked toward the vanished dawn, 
But fate,' with stern, relentless pace, 

Still led me on and on. 

Then swiftly as the swallows fleet 

Before the scudding blast, 
My feet were hurried on to meet 

The frowning eve at last — 
The sunset charmed me for awhile, 

With splendid gleams of rainbow light, 
But while it mocked me with a smile 

Day faded into night. 



DREAMS 0' SUMMER 



DREAMS O' SUMMER. 

'X' HOUGH it's winter I'm dreaming 

Of the summertime today, 
With its stubblefields a-gleaming, 

And the perfume of the hay; 
Where the wind, a restless rover, 

lyisping, whispers to the bees 
In the tangled tufts of clover 

And the blossoms on the trees. 

Dreaming of the musky meadows, 

And the bobwhite's eerie call; 
Of the woodland's dusky shadows, 

And the dapples where they fall 
From the leafy branches swinging, 

O'er the lazy old mill stream, 
As it flows, forever singing. 

Like a lover half a-dream. 

Dream of dewy twilight falling, 

Or the moonlight calm and still, 
Where the whip-poor-will is calling 

From the shadows on the hill; 
And the drowsy, dreamlike tinkle 

Of the cowbells in the lane. 
Where the firefly tapers twinkle 

Like a "jack-o'-lantern" rain. 

Dream of breeze -blown roses swaying 
By the garden walks at home, 

Where the dear old folks are praying 
For their wayward own that roam; . 



GOOD NIGHT 99 



And are watching for their coming 
From the early dawn till late, 

As they listen in the gloaming 
For the clicking of the gate. 



GOOD NIGHT. 



r^ OOD NIGHT the stars are beaming 

A-down in dreamful light, 
A-twinkle and a-gleaming 

Good night, my love, good night! 

Go seek thy peaceful pillow, 

And angels guard till light 
While thy true heart beats calmy — 

My dear, good night, good night! 

Close thy brown eyes in slumber 
That smiled by day so bright — 

In dreams of beauty smiling 

Sleep, sweet — Good night, good night! 

LOFa 



100 WHERE MY LOVE SLEEPS 



WHERE MY LOVE SLEEPS. 

TV/IY love is sleeping where the grass 

In summer time is green, 
Low bending when the breezes pass 

In silence and unseen — 
She who was young and dutiful, 

And sweet surpassing fair, 
Of soul as blithe and beautiful 

As spirits of the air. 

My love is sleeping where the rose 

With fragrance blooms in spring, 
Where lily and the ivy grows. 

And birds low carols sing, 
From willow branches drooping slenderly, 

For she was young and gay 
Of heart and loved as tenderly 

The glad sunshine as they. 

My love is sleeping where the dew 

Gleams brightly when the moon, 
The myrtle leaves is shining through 

From star-strewn skies of June, 
To deck the pall like gloom of night 

That veils the mound above 
Her ashes with a bloom of light 

That seems a smile of love. 

My love is sleeping where the sod. 

Beneath which all must go, 
Is mantled in a shroud of God, 

The winter's gift of snow; 



THE DIFFERENCE 101 



For her young life was gifted bright, 
And pure of heart and mind 

As are the snowflakes drifted white, 
Or borne upon the wind. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

T N watch-tower lone and searching 

The heaven's starry deeps, 
A student worn with watching 

His midnight vigil keeps. 
This sage, half mad with learning, 

Essays the sum to find 
Of miles between the planets 

And time their lights have shined. 

Were I some hermit scholar, 

In quiet thought alone, 
I'd find a better problem, 

Though deeper yet I own. 
For I would try to reckon 

The blissful kisses score 
That on two lips of ruby 

Find place forevermore. 



102 WHEN FIELDS AND WOODS ARE GREEN 



WHEN FIELDS AND WOODS ARE GREEN. 

\X7 HEN earth and heaven smile together 

In gladsome days of spring, 
With shine of sun and witching weather 

That birds and blossom bring, 
'Tis then alone I love to wander 

By wood and field and stream 
While over love and life I ponder 

In thought that's half a dream. 

Where lost in fancy, I in chancing 

To scan the plain behold 
The lazy mist-wraith Lawrence dancing 

Along the sunny wold; 
And flag and reed and rushes quiver, 

And to the breezes lean 
That run in ripples on the river 

When woods and fields are green. 

Where lately slept the forest leafless, 

In solemn silence bound. 
Awakes a laughter gay and griefless, 

Of merry, mirthful sound. 
Save when the turtle-dove is moaning — 

Tho' not because it grieves — 
Or sounds the dull and drowsy droning 

Of bees among the leaves. 

And where the woodland bud is springing 

Soft strains of music float. 
For there the mocking-bird is singing, 

With sweet and melting note; 



WHEN FIELDS AND WOODS ARE GREEN 103 



And, too, the sky is blue above me, 

In cloudless beauty seen, 
And breezes whisper that they love me 

When woods and fields are green. 

And on the treeless field and meadow 

The golden sunlight shines, 
While half a light and half a shadow 

The greening wood combines; 
And down the dingle bright and bloomy. 

With smiles of silver sheen. 
The babbling brooks come talking to me 

When woods and fields are green. 



104 MOUNTAIN SONG 



MOUNTAIN SONG. 

tj^EAR not the mountain's lofty height, 

Tho' seeming grim and hoary, 
For there eternal Heaven's light 

Is throned in deathless glory. 
Naught breaks the dreamful silence there 

Save some bold eagle's cry, 
High-sailing graceful, far and fair 

The blue attainless sky. 

In every age and every clime 

Great spirits seek the mountains, 
And on their sacred heights sublime 

Drink deep of wisdom's fountains. 
There bribeless freedom stands on guard, 

The sentinel of time : 
There nature's virgin soil's unmarred 

By toil or stained with crime. 

The Saviour taught on Olive's crest, 

There wept in holy pity, 
For lost Jerusalem, his best 

Beloved and chosen city. 
Then up and leave the lowlands where 

The murky mist enshrouds 
The vale and drink diviner air 

With seraphs o'er the clouds. 

As Abram, who would sacrificed 

His son upon the altar; 
Elijah, Moses and the Christ, 

Or Jeptha's martyred daughter, 



SONG OF A DEAD DREAM 105 



lycave, leave the shadows grim below, 
Where sinful mortals plod, 

And climb the rosy heights to know 
A kinship with the gods! 



SONG OF A DEAD DREAM. 

T WILL sing you a song, like the swan that is said 

To sing sweetest and best as it dies; 
A song of a dreaming of love that is dead 

In the light of your beautiful eyes. 
A song with a theme as pathetic as old, 

For a song born of love that is past, 
That comes from a heart that is careless and cold 

With its dreams and its hopes fading fast. 

A song for the smiles that will brighten the ways. 

Through the gloom of the sad coming years, 
When age with its toil, in the dark after days. 

Shall be burdened with trouble and tears — 
A song for the gladness revived long at rest 

That awoke with a happy surprise 
And a song for the hope renewed in my breast 

By the light of your beautiful eyes. 

The song and the singer may pass out of mind, 

But the dream of the dreamer will live 
As long as a lover in love is so blind 

As a life for his passion to give; 
So kindly accept; for this song, as I've said, 

Is like that of the swan as it dies. 
Inspired by a dream of a love that is dead 

In the light of your beautiful eyes. 



.106 IN SUMMER WOODS 



IN SUMMER WOODS. 

TN summer time I love to roam 

The dark, dream-haunted woods, 
Where sombre shadows have their home, 

And mystic silence broods 
Unbroken, save when nature's heard 

In whispers of the breeze 
And flapping wing of flying birds 

Or hum of roving bees. 

In lappings of the limpid streams 

That fret the flowered dells, 
Whose soft and silver tinkle seems 

As weird, unearthly bells; 
Or when the brawling crows aloft, 

In noisy quarrels wail, 
Or coos the dove in accents soft, 

Or flutes the piper quail. 

Or when on hollow tree-trunks felled, 

The tufted red-head pounds, 
A woodman-wraith of elfin eld 

Whose pigmy axe resounds; 
Or rumble of the waterfall 

That tumbles down the steep. 
With quaking thunder sounds that call 

The echoes from their sleep. 

Therefore I love the summer wood, 

Its cool and dreamy gloom. 
Its brooks and trees and birds and bees 

And flowers' faint perfume — 



SONG OF THE HILLS ' 107 



Unmarred by human hands, it seems 

As consecrated ground 
And fit for thought and hallowed dreams 

In silence or in sound. 



SONG OF THE HII.LS. 

A WEARY of the world I fain 

Would often feel forsooth 
The same sweet, gladsome charm again 

That lured me in my youth 
To wander o'er the hills so grand, 

And by the babbling streams, 
A rover and in fairyland 
A dreamer of sweet dreams. 

And longings come to see the hills — 

The hills of memory — 
Whose beauty with a rapture thrills 

The spirit bound or free. 
The azure hills, the hills of home, 

And fields of golden gleams, 
In fancy where I often roam 

A dreamer of sweet dreams. 

Sweet hills of woodland where the leaves, 

By summer breezes stirred 
With music soothe the soul that grieves, 

And where the mocking bird 



108 SONG OF THE HILLS 



A song of love in gladness trills — 
Where earth an Eden seemed, 

When in the shadow of the hills 
In other days I dreamed. 

How sweet, in deathless memories 

The beauty of the hills. 
The weird-toned wind-harp in the trees, 

The rondel of the rills, 
And slumbertune the river plays — 

Like dream-song sweet and low — 
Of olden days and golden days. 

And loves of long ago. 



BY THE RIVER 106 



BY THE RIVER. 

"D Y the river let me loiter 

In the blooming days of spring, 
When the gleam is on the water 

And the birds are on the wing; 
Let me from the world's intrusion 

In the pleasant shadows lie, 
Dreaming in a sweet seclusion 

While the moments swiftly fiy. 

In the summer by the river 

Let me wander at my will, 
Where the weeping willows quiver 

In the breezes never still, 
While I weave a dreamy story 

Of the fabled long ago 
When the red man in his glory 

Saw its silver currents flow. 

When the autumn leaf is yellow, 

And a freight of luscious wines, 
In the wild grape, ripe and .mellow. 

Weights the woodlands trailing vines. 
By the river let me wander. 

Drifting with the winding stream — 
By the river let me ponder. 

By the river let me dream. 

For the river through the hazy 
Days of autumn softly glides, 

With a movement slow and lazy 
While the dreamy spell abides; 



110 BY THE RIVER 



And its water chanting ever 
In a lyric sweet and low, 

Sings a song that leaves me never 
Though the seasons come and go. 

With a melancholy shiver 

And a fleeting glance I go, 
In the winter from the river 

To the fireside's friendly glow, 
But its shimmer seems to haunt me 

In the solemn snowy night, 
And its murmur seems to taunt me 

With a song of past delight. 



WHEN THE HILLS ARE WHITE 111 



WHEN THE HILLS ARE WHITE. 

\X7HEN the earth is white and gleaming, 

Where the shining snowflakes lie, 
And the morning sun is beaming 

From the azure of the sky, 
Like a loving smile and tender 

Falls the gentle winter light 
In a golden glow of splendor 

On the wide expanse of white. 

And beyond the fields and meadows 

Where the misty river lies, 
Sloping up above the shadows, 

Loom the hills against the skies, 
Where at sunset one beholds them 

In a blush of rosy light, 
Ere the twilight gloom enfolds them 

In the bosom of the night. 

Then if skies are opalescent. 

Star be-jeweled, cloudless bright, 
And the moon is full or crescent 

Shining with a ghostly light. 
Fainter far they gleam and glisten, 

While the breezes from them seem 
Spirit whispers and I listen 

In a weird enchanted dream. 

In a dream of vanished pleasure 

In the sunny years gone by, 
And of love as life's best treasure, 

Knowing neither tear nor sigh; 



112 THE LOVE ENDURING 



Love than which is nothing sweeter 
To the wild heart that it thrills, 

Though a passion fleeing fleeter 
Than the snowflakes from the hills. 



THE LOVE ENDURING. 

'T*HE love that endureth forever 

Is founded on virtue and truth, 
All others are false fleeting passions 
That fail with the fading of youth. 



THE OLD DINNER HORN 1 13 



THE OLD DINNER HORN. 

4 4 HP HE old oaken bucket that hangs in the well" 

Is the theme of a beautiful song, 
' 'The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell' ' 

And the streamlet that "zig zags along" 
Yet dearer than these are a full many more 

Of the beauties of home that I sing; 
A loft full of hay, and the old creaking door 

To the barn that I used for a swing. 

The cool swimming pool and the vine-tangled hill, 

The low brown cottage where I was born; 
The murmuring rill, by the old watermill — 

But the toot of the old dinner horn 
Was dearer to me with its far-reaching sound 

As it floated and echoed and rolled. 
Encircling the farm to its uttermost bound 

And so promptly the dinner hour told. 

Oh, the old dinner horn! I hailed it a boon, 
With its welcome so cheerful, and true 

To the hour it called me to dinner at noon 
With its "toot" and a "too-doodle-doo." 

I've listened to songs of the sea all alone, 

To chimes of bells in echoing aisles, 
And to organs that shook with thundering tone 

The walls of the vast cathedral piles — 
More welcome to me in the hot summer time, 

Of that horn, was its loud rolling roar 
Than the organ's sweet swells, than a chime of bells, 

Or the murmuring sea on the shore, 



114 THE OLD DINNER HORN 



At the first faiut note of that horn on the air, 

Was the harrow, the scythe or the hoe 
Abandoned at once, and the plow with its gear 

Was left standing alone by the row; 
And quickly, with appetite often denied 

To the wishes of kings and their queens, 
I mounted my steed, with a hunger-born speed, 

For a ride to my bacon and beans. 

The minstrel may sing of the bugles that call 

To the patriot soldier to arm, 
But I sing of that trump, while I sing at all, 

That called me home at noon on the farm. 
Oh, I hailed it a boon, in the month of June, 

When I toiled 'mid the green, growing corn. 
For beautiful music to herald the noon 

Was the "toot" of that old dinner horn. 

If the judgment trump is no harsher in sound 

On that day when it wakes up the dead 
From their last deep sleep in the dark charnel ground. 

And I sleep with a grave for a bed. 
When Gabriel shall call with his trumpet some morn 

Me to wake at the crack of the doom, 
Perhaps I shall think that the old dinner horn 

Calls me home from the fields at noon. 

Shall think it the horn that is sounding at the noon 
With its "toot" and a "too-doodle-doo,"— 

Not the Archangel's trump that heralds the Doom 
And the judgment to me and to you. » 



THE VANQUISHED SUMMER 115 



THE VANQUISHED SUMMER. 

I^^OW sings the weird September wind, 

Sad herald of the fall, 
While blue the after summer haze 

Drops like a spirit pall 
To wrap the far-off mountain scene 

In mystery and gloom, 
And throw a misty pallor o'er 

The meadow's face abloom. 

And now the vanquished summer flees, 

As flees a frightened thief, 
And faint the autumn's waning sun 

lyies on the trembling leaf; 
And homeward flies the drunken bee 

When day and darkness meet 
To revel o'er his hoarded store 

In wealth of well-earned sweet. 

The luscious grape is ripe, the nuts 

Are browning one by one, 
And high above the orchard wall, 

A- gleam in autumn's sun, 
Pawn broker-like, the apple hangs 

A branch of gilded ball, 
For summer's wealth of hoarded gold 

Is squandered on the fall. 

There's mystic music in the night 

O'er forest, field and flood, 
And marvelous beauty in the light 

Across the changing wood; 



116 THE VANQUISHED SUMMER 



And yet a pathos strangely sweet 

In everytMng appears, 
As one a deeper pity feels 

At beauty moved to tears. 

Not now I love the jostling crowd, 

The struggling mass of self, 
The eager throng that sweeps along 

In greedy race for pelf; 
For I would fain the truant play 

And roam from city's street 
Where nature spreads her arms to me 

So lovingly and sweet. 



IN AUTUMN DAYS 117 



IN AUTUMN DAYS. 

HP HERE'S music in the tangled wood 

Where spirit pipers blow, 
With every breeze, a faint prelude 

To songs of long ago — 
That makes a fadeless memory 

The glory of the days, 
When childhood's heart beat glad and free, 

In childhood's happy ways. 

The frosted fields are scrolls of gold, 

Unrolled before the view, 
Where summer's tale of toil is told 

In harvests old and new; 
Of filmy form as fairy boats. 

Outsailing far and fair, 
The downy thistle-blossom floats 

Its fleet along the air. 

Where goldenrod illumes the glade. 

With arcs of shining blooms, 
The iron-weeds are knights arrayed 

With silken, purple plumes; 
And mist-wraiths, "I^azy Lawrence" named 

In folklore quaint and old. 
Are dancing where the daisies flamed 

Of late a plain of gold. 

Beyond the sunlit plain agleam, 
Green-fringed with fragrant pines, 

The mountains loom above the stream 
That like a serpent winds 



118 IN A UTUMN DA YS 



A silver trail, by meadows lush 
And reedy brake and pool 

Till lost within the solemn hush 
Of shadowed woods and cool. 

For autumn with its dreamy haze 

On wings of sweet delight, 
Is passing by in glory days 

To meet the winter's blight, 
And memory is bright with gleams 

That lit the days of yore — 
The days of loving and of dreams, 

The day of nevermore! 



SPRINGTIME 119 



SPRINGTIME. 

\X7HEN sunny skies of springtime smile 

The cold and senseless sod 
Teems with a myriad forms of life 

As at a smile of God. 
For quickened by the crystal tears 

That weeping April sheds, 
The snowdrop and the violet 

Lift up their dainty heads. 

The dogwood blossoms on the hill 

Swing bleaching in the sun, 
And crimson buds of orchards swell 

And open one by one. 
A-field the velvet grasses weave 

The meadow's carpet green, 
And gentle spring prepares the way 

For summer's bolder queen. 

Red rosebuds by the garden wall 

Purse up their lips and pout, 
Anon to smile and blooming breathe 

Their fragrant sweetness out. 
The spring floods fall in flashing rills 

A-down the tangled steeps, 
Or gleam and glisten in the pool 

That in the valley sleeps. 

In spring the river wanders on 

In fuller flood and fleet 
That in the summer loiters by 

With slow, reluctant feet. 



120 SPRINGTIME 



The snowy lily by her brink 

Is dreaming o'er the tide, 
And lolly pops and buttercups 

Are nodding by her side. 

The blue bird calls, the robin sings, 

The sparrows faintly cry, 
And o'er the house in wheeling flight 

The twitt'ring swallows fly. 
The mock bird o'er the gurgling stream 

Pours out his liquid note 
Where willows bend and lilacs gleam 

With purple flags afloat. 

With birds and bees the trees among 

In some soft Southern clime 
I would my faltering feet might go 

With spring in blossom time, 
To lie upon the greening sward. 

Or loiter by the stream, 
To list the music of its flow 

And dream that life's a dream. 



A SPRING IDYL 121 



A SPRING IDYL. 

\X7HHN spring has crowned the world in bloom, 

And breezes float a sweet perfume, 
I long to leave the city street. 
And where the earth and sunshine meet 
In smiles of beauty bright and warm 

There play the truant rover 
By flashing water, wood and farm, 

And dream the old dreams over. 

Where on the lakes reflected sky. 
In snowy stars, the lillies lie. 
While 'round its rim a girdle green, 
The grasses to the water lean. 
And flag and fern and rushes lave, 

With plume and tassel streaming, 
Their tresses in the crystal wave 

Of limpid rimples gleaming. 

Where birds are singing in the trees, 

And lightly sways the gentle breeze, 

The woodbine o'er the brushwood strung, 

With lilliputian bugles hung, 

Such as the fairies might have blown 

To summon to their floral throne 

The courts of Mab in days of old, 

When all the land was wild wood, 
Or revels in the age of gold. 

When time was in its childhood. 



122 A SPRING IDYL 



Out where the peach or redbud shows 
A patch of purple, and where blows 
Like clouds of snow the dogwood trees 
Above the wild anemones, 
And other nameless milkwhite gems, 
Supported by the frailest stems. 
That, void of color and perfume. 

With every zephyr swaying, 
Seem only as if ghosts of bloom 

From fairy Eden straying. 



MORNING ON THE FARM 128 



MORNING ON THE FARM 

jD EYOND the mist of by-gone years 

My failing eyes can see, 
Despite the blight of time and tears, 

My happy youth so free, 
And reappears the olden scenes, 

With all the olden charm, 
When I'm a boy again in dreams 

Of morning on the farm. 

The eastern sky is all aglow 

With bars of ruddy light, 
Where jocund day, a-smiling gay, 

Drives forth the gloomy night. 
The hunters horn is heard afar 

Across the flow'ry wold, 
And up on high the morning star 

Is growing pale and cold. 

With odor sweet the breath of morn 

Is laden full and flows 
Swift rippling by the rustling corn. 

But lingers with the rose; 
And dewy beads are gleaming bright, 

On blossoms bush and vines, 
Scintillant as the brilliant light 

That from the diamond shines. 

With matin song of birds the trees 

Are tunefully alive. 
While a drowsy drone of waking bees 

Is heard within the hive; 



124 MORNING ON THE FARM 



Then through the open window way 

The spirit of the dawn 
Peeps in, and smiling seems to say, 
"Awake and hail the morn!" 

And from the drowsy slumberland, 

I startle up to find 
The whisp'ring sprite, so smiling bland, 

Was but a creaking blind; 
The rustling corn, the hunter's horn, 

And morning's rosy beams, 
Were only myths of fancy born 

That vanished with my dreams. 

Oh, mem'ries of the golden past, 

lyUll me again to sleep, 
And round my life a halo cast 

Where I forget to weep — 
Then dreaming heart awaken not, 

With joyful youth remain. 
As in the careless days that brought 

No waking hours of pain. 



WHEN WINTERS OVER 125 



WHEN WINTER'S OVER 

\X7HEN the winter wild is over, 

And the fields are fresh and green 
With the growing grass and clover, 

And the bursting bud is seen 
Where the orchard boughs are swaying 

With the blowing of the breeze, 
In a madcap frolic playing 

With the blossoms on the trees; 
Or an idle vagrant straying 

O'er the morning's misty leas. 

When the bright sunlight is lying 

Over all, a film of gold. 
And the mellow breeze is sighing 

Where the tender buds unfold 
Out in garlands green and plumy 

On the trailing wreaths of vine, 
And the meadow lands are bloomy 

Where the brook of silver shine, 
In a song is calling to me. 

Then a world of dreams is mine. 

For the spell of springtime fills me 

With a vague and sweet unrest, 
And its wondrous beauty thrills me 

Till the heart within my breast, 
Beats anew with olden pleasure, 

Like the music glad and free, 
Of the songs of soothing measure 

l^hat the season sings to me — 
Sweeter than the honey treasure 

Of the flowers to the bee. 



126 THE DREAM HE A YEN 



THE DREAM HEAVEN. 

/^FT I let my spirit wander 

Where the lights of fancy shine 
For as Riley aptly tells us 

In his "Old Sweetheart of Mine," 
"I feel no twinge of conscience 
To deny me any theme 
When care has cast her anchor 
In the harbor of a dream." 

lyife has neither cross nor sorrow 

Sweetest visions fill the mind, 
For our friends are ever faithful 

And our foes are even kind, 
So we bear mankind no malice 

As it greets us with esteem — 
"When care has cast her anchor 

In the harbor of a dream." 

Smoothly flows true love forever, 

And the heart forgets its pain, 
While the eyes leave off their weeping 

And the roses bloom again 
On the cheeks that paled with grieving 

Where the smiles of pleasure beam — 
"When care has cast her anchor 

In the harbor of a dream." 

So unmindful of the errors 

And the trials of today — 
Heeding neither toil nor troubles, 

That await us on the way, 



LONGING FOR AUTUMN 127 



Let us envy none their honors 
Howsoever bright they seem- 
"When care has cast her anchor 
In the harbor of a dream." 



LONGING FOR AUTUMN. 

TN these ardent days of summer, 

With the world aglow with heat, 
When the flowers wilt and wither 

That in springtime were so sweet, 
I am longing for the autumn 

With its cooling atmosphere 
When the days are dream-like hazy, 

And the nights are crisp and clear — 

For the milder sun of fall time, 

And the beauty that it weaves, 
With a woof and weft of rainbow 

In the frosted forest leaves — 
When the gentle breeze is singing. 

With a dulcet, low refrain, 
Songs of harvest and its plenty 

Of the ripened fruit and grain — 

For the musky days of fragrance 

With the odor of the wine 
Spreads, a subtle scented incense. 

From the grapes that freight the vine; 



128 LONGING FOR AUTUMN 



And the orchard in its fruitage 
Then presents a picture bold, 

With a glimmering of crimson 
Through a spangle-work of gold. 

All the year is blessed with beauty, 

From the springtime with its rose, 
Through the summer gleam of splendor, 

And in winter when it snows, 
But the glory days of autumn. 

Ere the ripe leaves fade and fall. 
To the beauty loving dreamer, 

Are the dearest days of all. 



IN FANCY'S FAIR DOMAIN 129 



IN FANCY'S FAIR DOMAIN. 

npHE springtime lures the heart astray 

In fancy's fair domain, 
For when the sunlight's ardent ray 

Emblossoms hill and plain, 
Of bowered lanes and crystal rills, 

The shadow haunted streams, 
By mountain walls and wooded hills, 

The city dweller dreams. 

Of nightfall in the fragrant June, 

The beauty of the sky 
With stars a-twinkle and the moon 

A silver bow on high, 
When cowbells tinkle by the stream 

That murmurs in its flow, 
As sounds the music of a dream 

Afar off sweet and low. 

He lives the days of nevermore 

In visions far and fair, 
With heart untroubled as of yore, 

Amid the beauties where 
Vine tangles drape the stony ledge 

That to the highway dips 
And roses glimmer through the hedge, 

As red as lovers lips. 

Beyond the meadow lush and cool, 

In shadowed woodland, lies 
The tryst of youth, a fern fringed pool. 

That mirrors for his eyes 



130 IN FANCY'S FAIR DOMAIN 



Love's faultless form and fairy face, 

As if a magic spell, 
Transfiguring the lowly place. 

Made it the naiads well. 

As waiting by the pasture bars, 

He thinks of other days, 
And harvest noons when love's twin stars, 

Bright smiling met his gaze — 
The eyes of some mild mannered maid, 

As innocent and sweet 
As morning's misty breeze that plays 

In ripples o'er the wheat. 

Oh! now to play the truant free 

From duties that demand 
The toiler's time, and oh, to be 

The dreamer glad and grand. 
Who under heaven's mystic blue, 

Forgets the city's grind, 
Fair forms of beauty floating through 

The vista of his mind! 



KA THLEEN 131 



KATHLEEN. 

l^ATHLEEN, a happy world around me, 

No signs of sadness mar the scene, 
For tender love and true has found me 

A dreamer glad of you, Kathleen — 
And every leaf and blossom whispers, 

Your gentle graces in my ear, 
And all the brooks are loving lispers 

Of you, Kathleen — Kathleen so dear. 

Kathleen, the bees are bloomward winging. 

And dulcet music fills the air. 
For all the birds, Kathleen, are singing, 

In rondels sweet, your beauties rare. 
Kathleen, your name the breeze is sighing; 

Kathleen, the grass is waving greeny 
In meadows where the light is lying 

In smiles of glory bright, Kathleen. 

Kathleen, your face is like the morning, 

When shadows flee before the light; 
The blushes sw^eet, your cheeks adorning. 

In beauty bloom as roses might. 
Kathleen, the stars were never, 

In splendor brighter than your eyes. 
Whose laughter lights mj' life forever 

As sunshine from the summer skies. 

The modest lily blooms in whiteness, 

The dainty violet in blue; 
The shining marigold in brightness. 

But neither one so sweet as you, 



132 SONG OF THE SEASONS 



For you of flowers though the rarest, 
Are sweetest mortal eyes have seen- 

A blushing maiden rose the fairest, 
And loved as loveliest, Kathleen. 



SONG OF THE SEASONS. 

T N spring, I love in greening fields, 

To walk amid the clover, 
Or woodlands clothed in leafy shields 

When wintry winds are over; 
Go where is heard the singing bird 

And babble of the water. 
Where lithely lean the grasses green 

And in the sunshine loiter. 

In summertime I long to be 

Foot-loose among the mountains 
To roam the forest fancy-free 

And drink at cooling fountains; 
Or idler by the salt sea-side 

To watch the foaming billows, 
Or drowse and dream beside the stream 

Beneath the weeping willows. 

In autumn's mild and musky days, 
When softly blow the breezes, 

And shines the sun through dreamy haze 
A wealth of beauty pleases, 



SONG OF THE SEASONS 133 



For then the leaf and harvest sheaf 
Are ripe and golden yellow, 

And fruit with wine on tree and vine 
Is bursting sweet and mellow. 

In winter-tide when falls the snow 

My feet care not to wander, 
But by the fireside's friendly glow 

I love to sit and ponder, 
And idly dream while sparkles gleam, 

Or read me some old story 
Of wild romance as upward glance 

The flames in glints of glory. 



134 bo GOOD TODAY 



DO GOOD TODAY. 



npOO LATE, alas, too late; for love! 

When life's brief dream is o'er; 
The flower wreaths we place above 

The heart that beats no more, 
No joy can give, no smile awake, 

Nor storms of grief allay 
When death has put beyond recall 

The loved of yesterday. 

The only time for doing good 

Is in the living now, 
The past is dead, no future sure, 

And fate will not allow 
Atonement for the past neglect, 

Nor blot mistakes away. 
When Time has set his seal upon 

The scroll of yesterday. 

Then make the most of each to-day, 

Contented with your lot — 
The glorious future is a dream, 

The morrow cometh not. 
Nor silent sit with folded hands. 

To act an idle part 
Amid the ghosts of other years 

That haunt the human heart. 

There's worthy work for willing hands 

To do of many kinds, 
To offer council and direct, 

There's need of able minds. 



LOVE SONG 135 



There's weeping eyes and longing hearts 

For sympathy and love, 
Then up and act a noble part 

Your worthiness to prove. 



LOVK SONG. 



A S there is sweet love, complete love, 

lyove that lives beyond the tomb, 
There is fading, frail and fleet love 

As the morning glory's bloom. 
Daughters love their mothers kindly, 

And a father loves his son; 
Sweethearts love each other blindly 
Till their lives become as one. 

Some love is mad love and glad love, 

Bright in hope and happiness, 
While another love is sad love, 

Dark in doubtings and distress. 
Ivove that sisters bear their brothers 

Is possessed of many charms, 
But is cold beside a mother's 

For the infant in her arms. 

And after child love — a mild love — 
As the sunlight follows morn, 

Comes the fanciful and wild love 
Of the sweetest passion born. 



136 LOVE SONG 



Though a happy love is wife love, 
There's another love as bright, 

For a mother's love is life love 
And a crown of earthly light. 

'Tis said that old love is cold love, 

And a passive twilight rest 
From the ardent noon of bold love, 

But a mother's love is best; 
For a mother's love is true love, 

As it changes not nor fails 
Like the passion light of new love 

When the bloom of beauty pales. 



OF A MOUNTAIN RIVER l37 



OF A MOUNTAIN RIVER. 

\X7HEN I feel the breeze of autumn 

Then my heart with rapture thrills, 
Thinking of a mountain river 

Where it winds among the hills, 
Like a silver serpent, trailing 

By the vine-clad steps of stone, 
And the fallen bole and boulder 

With the mosses overgrown. 

Where I've breathed the musky fragrance 

Of the mellow muscadines. 
As if incense from a censer 

In the swinging wreathes of vines; 
Where the wind's wild harp was playing, 

With a cadence sweet and low, 
lyike the half forgotten music 

Of the songs of long ago. 

In the dappled days of fall time 

With the shadow and the gleam 
Oft I've wandered by the waters 

Of that wild romantic stream, 
lyone, a lover lost in dreaming, 

With the heart of youth attuned 
To the melancholy murmur 

That the rippling river crooned. 

With the splendor of the autumn, 
And the thoughts that fill my breast 

With a hope of joy unending. 
Comes again the same unrest 



138 TO MAUDE-LILLIAN 



That I felt of old a dreamer 
Of a life with love replete, 

Where that mountain river ripples 
With the balsam breezes sweet. 



TO MAUDE-LILLIAN. 

TV/TAUDE-LILLIAN, love, the world is wide. 

With beauty everywhere, 
In many forms, of many charms. 

For women sweet and rare 
In ev'ry clime of earth abide, 

But none than you more fair. 

Maude-Lillian, love, the brightest star 

That ever gemmed by night 
The distant sky with golden eye. 

Of soft but lustrous light. 
More brilliant never was than are 

Your eyes, love-beaming bright. 

Maude- Lillian, love, the rarest flow'r 

That ever bloomed in spring. 
The lily white, or red rose bright, 

Of which the poets sing. 
Was never in its fairest hour 

Than you a sweeter thing. 



TO MAUDE-LILLIAN 139 



Maude-Lillian, love, the sweetest dream 

That ever mortal knew, 
However fair of beauty rare, 

To nature false or true, 
Could never quite so lovely seem 

As what I dream of you. 

Maude- Lillian, love, the world is not 

A paradise of joy, 
For every heart must have its part 

Of grieving and annoy; 
But you might bless the humblest spot 

With love without alloy. 



140 LOLA WAYNE 



\,0\,K WAYNK. 

CTlIvL, after many years have flown, 

Of pleasure and of pain, 
Returns the sweetest dream I've known 
In life, sweet Lola Wayne. 

A dream of apple blossoms where. 

With flute-like, low refrain, 
The mocking bird a dreamy air 

Is lilting, lyola Wayne. 

And to a springtime morning goes 
My thoughts, when down the lane 

I met you blushing like a rose. 
But sweeter, Lola Wayne. 

The spirit of the spring you seemed, 
The queen of beauty's train, 

And fairest I had ever dreamed 
Might love me, Lola Wayne. 

About your hair a wreath of bloom, 

A fragrant flower chain, 
Breathed of a subtle, sweet perfume, 

Like incense, Lola Wayne. 

Love lighted up your laughing eyes, 
As brightly beamed the twain 

As might twin stars of moonless skies 
At midnight, Lola Wayne. 

Sweet eyes ! around my heart they cast, 

Love's halo, to remain 
Alight as long as life might last, 

For me, sweet Lola Wayne. 



LOLA WAYNE 141 



And all bewildered with your charms, 

As one with joy insane 
I longed to take you in my arms 

And kiss you, lyola Wayne. 

In other loves I'll never meet, 

In all the world again, 
With one so beautiful and sweet 

As you were, L,ola Wayne. 

But apple blossoms bright with dew. 

Or gleaming in the rain, 
Still bring me tender dreams of you, 

My lost love — lyola Wayne. 



142 LIFE'S LANE 0' DREAMS 



LIFE'S LANK O' DREAMS. 

T N youth a life is like a day 

Of summer when the bloom 
Of roses spread along the way 

The sweetest of perfume. 
The road before us when we start 

Is lit with glory gleams, 
And fleet of foot and glad of heart 

We walk Life's lane o' dreams. 

The birds that warble in the trees 

Sings songs of joy to be 
And in the lisping of the breeze 

Is heard a song of glee. 
And driven by ambition's goad, 

The spirit young and bold 
Goes ever dreaming on life's road 

Of future, fame or gold. 

But when we fare unto the noon, 

All radiant with the smile, 
Of cloudless skies of fragrant June, 

We walk with love awhile, 
Unmindful of the faded dawn 

Of youth — so happy seems 
The rosy road we journey on 

Along Life's lane o' dreams. 

Love leaves us and a shadow falls 
Across the way, so bright 

At noontime, and the heart recalls 
The vanished morning light, 



THE A UTUMN ' 5 PA THOS 143 



But through the gathering gloom we view, 

Afar with fading beams, 
The sun of hope we followed to 

The end of I^ife's lane o' dreams. 



THE AUTUMN'S PATHOS. 

'T' HERE'S pathos in each autumn scene 

Of crimson show or yellow sheen. 
Of tangled copse of bush and brier, 
By sylvan lakes, the naiad's well. 
Where swings the goldenrod's pale fire, 
Flambeaux that gleam the dusky dell 
"When earth hath lost its green. 

Along the fallow fields, dead eyes 
Of daisies stare up at the skies; 
A tuft of blood-red plumage seems 
The ruby-beaded sumach's crest, 
And gold the bois-d'arc orange gleams 
Out through the hedge in yellow drest, 
When vanquished summer flies. 

Of some dark deed of some bold Kate 
By night the green cicalas prate. 
And weifdly shrill the cricket's call 
Across the bronzing fields is heard, 
While perched upon a poplar tall 
Lone pipes a melancholy bird 
A requiem for its mate. 



144 THE A U TUMN ' S FA THOS 



The frost-king steals the roses' blush, 
And lends the leaf a livid flush 
That trembling to the osier clings, 
And over height and over dale 
On silent, soft and airy wings, 
The blue haze broods, an azure veil. 
In melancholy hush. 

The frost-smit flowers fade and fall 
In silence by the garden wall; 
The river chants with solemn croon, 
A hectic flush is on the vines; 
In minor tones, a mournful tune, 
The wailing wind sings in the pines, 
For death is over all. 



WHEN SUMMER CALLS ME HOME 145 



WHEN SUMMER CAI.I.S ME HOME. 

^X/HEN the winter skies are leaden hued, 

And the rain is dropping down, 
I make beUeve that I'm satisfied 

With living in the town; 
Or when the country roads are filled 

With a slush of muddy sleet, 
I find I'm fairly well content 

To use the city street. 

But when the summer time is come 

With blossom, bird and bee 
And sunny skies are bright and blue. 

And smiling down to me, 
I feel a God- forsaken kind 

Of gloom and loneliness, 
Remaining in the crowded town 

Of business and distress. 

For then the zephyrs whisper low. 

To bid me welcome where 
They wrinkle the river's solemn face, 

And tangle the meadow's hair — 
Where sunshine reds the cherry's cheek. 

And the wanton winds are bold 
That tousle the fields of bronzing wheat 

Till they smile in a gleam of gold. 

Where the turf ted jay is whistling gay, 

And the crow- freebooters prate 
Of pirate deeds, and the speckled quail 

Is calling to his mate — 



146 WHEN SUMMER CALLS ME HOME 



Where the gentle dove croons of his love, 

Lone in some sylvan nook, 
And the swallow laves his tawny breast 

In the waters of the brook. 

Out where the richest fragrancy 

Is borne upon the breeze 
That comes from clover fields abloom 

And fennel-studded leas — 
Out where the tender grasses wave 

And where I long to roam 
With Nature smiling sweet to me, 

For Summer calls me home. 

And it lifts a burden from my heart 

To view such scenes again, 
To smell the clover and the rose 

That blossoms by the lane — 
To hear the river's murmuring flood 

That flows by meadows green — 
Out where each lad's of royal blood 

And every lass a queen. 



THE PIN-GHOST HI 



THE PIN-GHOST. 

T'VE read or I've dreamed of a wrinkled old hag, 

With a figure all crimped to a crook — 
That canters at night on a broom for a nag, 

With the goblin, the ghoul and the spook — 
Her mission? Ah, well be you patient a wee 

While I tell, though you laugh it to vscorn, 
And something, perhaps, in the story you'll see 

To amuse you and something to warn. 

This weazened old hag, with a broom for a nag, 

Is a witch, and she gathers up pins, 
And stores them away, in a cushion-like bag 

Till she wishes to puncture the skins 
Of people who shirk in the duties of life, 

Or the merciless woman or man 
The spreaders of scandal, the breeders of strife. 

And the scoffer at God's holy plan. 

You've noticed, no doubt, that a pin disappears 

In a rather mysterious way; 
That something at night with your rest interferes 

If you tumble to sleep ere you pray — 
She gathers the pins that you lose through the day 

And she stores them away, as I've said. 
Till night, when the witch or the devil's to pay 

If you carry a conscience to bed . 

I awake at night from my dreams in affright. 
With a nettle-like sting on my spine, 

And tumble and toss, while I swear by the Joss, 
In my bed is a mad porcupine; 



148 THE PIN-GHOST 



And I hunt in vain for a flee or a tick 

When the broom-riding ghost with her pins 

Is prodding away with a stab and a stick 
To the tally in full of my sins. 

She'll find you asleep, she will find you awake, 

She will haunt you in life's every place 
The sweetest of dreams from your mind she will take, 

And the smile, when she comes, from your face. 
You'll meet her quite often, this sprite of the air, 

This old hag with the broom for a horse, 
Whose name is familiar to men everywhere 

For she's called in our language remorse. 



CHRISTMAS SONG 149 



CHRISTMAS SONG. 

npHBRK'S a time of hallowed glory 

That in gladness is sublime, 
And a theme of song and story 

For the folk of every clime — 
Time of memories undying 

As the stars of fadeless glow, 
Each with each in splendor vieing, 

Through the nights of long ago. 

With the sun the sky adorning, 

Fancy paints the scenes of earth 
All resplendent in the morning 

Of the day that knew the birth 
Of the Christ-Child, Prince of ages, 

lyoved of mankind, high or low. 
More than all the saints and sages 

Of the lands of long ago. 

Not alone the'homage given 

To the Savior of mankind 
Makes the time a touch of Heaven 

To the glad, contented mind. 
For it matters little whether 

Blooms the rose or falls the snow, 
Christmas calls again together 

Friends who left us long ago. 

lyovers true, in anger parting, 
Children from the old home nest, 

Gone to seek their fortunes, starting 
Ever hopeful on the quest, 



150 CHRISTMAS SONG 



Make again a loving visit 

And with welcome home they know 
In their hearts the joy exquisite 

Of the Christmas long ago. 

So we hail the day's returning 

With a heart love unconfined, 
For the objects of its yearning 

Meet with greetings glad and kind — 
And the world as one in gladness 

Makes the day a time of cheer, 
For the mind is freed from sadness 

When the Christmas-tide is here. 



MY HOUR TO DREAM 151 



MY HOUR TO DREAM. 

\X7HEN purple dyes of sunset fade, 

And stars of beauty gleam 
In summer twilight's drowsy shade 

I love to sit and dream, 
While shadows fall on vale and hill, 
- And hide them from my sight, 
Where nature slumbers soft and still 

Wrapped in the dewy night. 

With lighted pipe I tilt my chair 

And gently close my eyes, 
When in a picture wondrous fair 

The past before me lies; 
The orchard where I played a child 

And house where I was born. 
The sloping hills of woodland wild 

And fields of waving corn. 

The undulating blooms of sedge 

That purple-plume the plain. 
And vine-entwined mock- orange hedge 

That overhung the lane 
Where rosy youth of faces sweet. 

In sunny days of yore. 
Have left the prints of nimble feet 

That walk therein no more. 

The hemlocks by the mountain streams. 

So dusky, green and tall, 
And flashing sunlit spray that gleams 

Around the waterfall, 



152 MY HOUR TO DREAM 



The elder copse and bramble nooks 
Where luscious berries grew, 

And silver sheen of meadow brooks 
So pleasing to the view. 

My happy youth can be no more, 

My brightest hopes have fled, 
And many friends I loved of yore 

Are numbered with the dead, 
But when the toil of day is done, 

And stars at nightfall gleam, 
The past I love to muse upon 

And of its pleasures dream. 



MY SWEETHEART 153 



I 



MY SWEETHEART. 

N the blue of the sky 

When the clouds drift by 

Is the hue of my sweetheart's eyes; 

And her hair is the sheen 

Of a sun-set scene 

On a cloud when the daylight dies. 

There's a sound of her voice 

When the winds rejoice 
In the tops of the murmuring pine; 

In the coo of the dove 

That tells of its love, 
And the plaint of the lowing kine. 

For her lips is the rose, 

But the lily shows 
As her brow and her cheek so sweet; 

And her smile is the gleam 

Of the sun's bright beam 
On the fields of the golden wheat. 

And her laugh is the trill 

Of the rippling rill 
In the shadow}' woodland dells, 

And the song that she sings 

From the steeple rings 
In harmonious chimes of the bells. 

And her breath is the breeze 

From the blooming leas 
As her home is the hill and plain, 

Where she smiles in the light, 

Or weeps in the night 
For her tears are the dew and the rain. 



154 MY SWEETHEART 



And I love her in spring, 
When the glad birds sing; 

In the summer with sky that glows, 
And I woo her in fall, 
When beauty's o'er all, 

Or with her I dream when it snows. 

In the gloom or the glow 

Of the skies I know 
I love her, in rain or in shine, 

For the beauty of change 

In nature so strange 
Alone is that sweetheart of mine. 



APR 10 1907 



